


Kiss Me Like It Is Our Last

by LetThereBeDestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Destiel Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Prince Castiel, Princes & Princesses, Princess Charlie, Secret Relationship, Warrior Dean, Wars, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-08-27 18:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8411584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetThereBeDestiel/pseuds/LetThereBeDestiel
Summary: Castiel fell in love with Dean when he was fifteen. At seventeen, being a well-trained warrior for Castiel's father, King Chuck, Dean left for war for the first time. Now - four years later - Amara, the new queen, decides that her only heir has to get married.As Castiel struggles to get along with his new fiancee, princess Charlie, Dean is being called for war again, and the secrecy of the two men's relationship is at risk as Castiel's love for Dean might be too strong to hide.





	1. Glowing Eyes

 

Darkness filled the halls of the castle, subdued only by the torches that were placed on the stone walls every few feet. Far above, a bell chimed twelve times, its ringing rumbling across the castle and sending a guard at every story to put out the blazes in the torches. Thirty minutes later and the castle was still, apart from the heavily-breathing guards – one put at the foot of every stairwell – that were struggling to stay conscious, their hands resting on their full bellies.

Halls only barely lit by the dim moonlight now, it was easy to miss the cloaked figure that progressed swiftly across the passageway.

It roamed down a stairwell, skipping above the sleeping guard at its end. If you were standing to the side of the single torch still burning by the guard you could see the figure was a man in his twenties, his eyes blue and steel-like. He didn’t hover by the light, however, hurrying towards the next stairwell and hopping over the guard at its end.

Four stories lower, he entered the dungeons which were located two floors beneath the entrance to the castle.

He didn’t care much for the dungeons. They were pitch black and humid, and he could feel the moss on the stone where his fingers fluttered across the walls as he sneaked towards the exit.

No one guarded the door that exited the dungeons and the long stairway leading to it, since the door could only be opened from the inside, and the chilly torture rooms were currently unattended. As he broke free from the stuffy room and into the cold night, he crouched and silently placed a thin rock between the wooden door and the wall to make sure he would have a way back inside.

He stood up and faced the castle’s fence, taking his shoes off and throwing them over to the other side.

It was a ten feet tall stone wall, but he knew exactly where to place the tips of his fingers and the pads of his feet – he will replace his leather boots on his feet once he lands on the other side of the wall and cleans the mud off his feet – to make it to the top of the fence. He climbed up swiftly, sitting at the top for just a split second, watching the fast-asleep city and locating the small cabin that was his destination, before landing on his feet and groping the ground for his boots.

There was a short walk through the thin forest to get to the front of the castle, where he burst out of the woods with his back to the guarded gates. He hurried past Builders Hood – a street of stone houses with bourgeois tenants – next to which were the market and the poor neighborhoods.

A chill went down his spine as he crossed the market. He liked visiting it during daytime – although he, of course, had no interest in purchasing anything from it – but now, with the streets dark and deserted, the empty vegetable carts at the corner of his eye moved and twitched when he wasn’t looking, and the splash of stomped berries on the brick pavement looked like blood.

He moved on quickly. In front of him was a network of wooden shacks and huts, each one more rickety than the other. He padded silently through the night, counting the doors. The moonlight stroked his face, leaving a spark in his eyes.

He recognized the house immediately, like he did every other night, although he refused to stop counting, just to make sure; the magnitude of the disaster if he knocked on the wrong door and someone recognized him was unthinkable.

On top of the precautions, he had to knock a secret rhythm on the door. This wasn’t particularly necessary – just something the idiot on the other side of the door made him do, to make him feel ridiculous. It worked.

“Who’s there?” Asked a voice from inside the house now.

“Let me in or I’ll break your neck,” he answered dryly. He couldn’t hear the other man smile, but he could hear the bolt being unlocked inside. Finally, a soft light colored his face yellow and he entered what was, in a sense, his home.

“Dean,” he greeted the man.

“Cas.” Dean locked the door and turned to embrace him with a kiss. “How’d it go?”

“As expected.” Castiel sighed and sat by the flimsy dining table. Everything in the room was made of wood, apart from the windows – those were just two symmetrical holes in the wall, covered tightly with thick curtains which Dean had nailed into the wall years ago so that Castiel could walk around inside the house safely.

“Is Sam sleeping?”

Dean glanced toward the bedroom. “He better be. Got school tomorrow.”

“Right,” said Castiel, recalling the late hour.

“What did he think about the candy?” He asked as Dean sat beside him. The jar still rested on the kitchen counter, half-full of colorful sugary beans which Castiel looted from the royal kitchen.

“Well, he didn’t like that I finished half the jar before he got home.” Castiel smiled softly, and Dean took his hand. “But when he did taste them, he loved ‘em. He said lemon was is favorite.”

“Tell him my favorite flavor is blueberry,” Castiel requested.

They sat in silence; Dean rubbed circles around Castiel’s knuckles. Castiel tried to clean his mind of thoughts, concentrate on the weary-looking furniture or the small spider climbing the wall; but the subject couldn’t be avoided.

Dean was the first to address it.

“So… How is she?”

He was getting married. Not to Dean, of course – even in his father’s time being with a man was considered odd and unnatural – not to talk about Dean being a simple soldier without royal blood – but when his father died and left his sister, Castiel’s aunt, to rule, things changed.

The queen didn’t have any children, and Castiel couldn’t see her ever getting married. He was left the only heir to her throne, obligated to continue the legacy with his own offspring. And since he never showed interest in the princesses and noblewomen his aunt kept sending his way, Amara had finally decided to find Castiel a wife, whether he liked it or not.

Her name was Celeste, princess of Middleton, and she was beautiful. He’s only seen her once, from a fair distance, but it was hard to deny: it seemed as though if Castiel was doomed to marry a woman, that clumsy, wide-eyed redhead was a decent wife for him.

For that exact reason, he figured Dean might unknowingly appreciate him sparing some details.

“She’s ginger, and quirky,” he concluded shortly. Dean’s fingers stopped moving, and he looked up.

“You know I can always tell when you’re hiding something from me,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “You do that thing with your face.”

“What thing?” A furrow between Castiel’s eyes deepened.

“That.”

Castiel sighed, pulling his shoulders up. “She was great. She started giggling after she slipped over her dress climbing up the stairs, and forgot her name while introducing herself to the queen. It’s like they cloned me and gave me a pair of breasts.” He fell silent and looked at Dean, who slowly assessed the situation.

“So, what, you thought… I’d be jealous or something?” The corners of his lips pulled down, and Castiel suppressed a sigh. He knew Dean all too well to be able to tell exactly how things would play out.

Instead of giving in to frustration, though, he freed his hand from Dean’s fingers and placed it on his cheek.

“I just don’t want you to think that this is going to change anything, that’s all.”

Dean didn’t answer, and Castiel’s fingers stroked his face tenderly.

“How is Sam doing in school?” He asked, gently changing the subject.

“Not bad,” Dean answered, reluctant, but playing along. “Told me one of his friends’ dad went away this week. Didn’t ask, but I saw he was wondering when I’m gonna go too.”

“ _If_ you go,” Castiel cleared his throat. His hand had dropped away from Dean and was now resting in his lap.

Dean traced the patterns of the wooden table with the tips of his fingers. “We’re in _war,_ Cas, and I’m a soldier.” He let out a deep breath, but quickly enough, the ends of his lips pulled up.

“Would you have missed me if I were gone?”

Castiel pouted. “This is not a laughing matter.”

He watched dozens of soldiers being sent to the battlefront every day. Most of them did come back – Amara had a flawlessly skilled and forceful army – but the odds weren’t worth the risk in Castiel’s opinion. He himself has been training for wartime from a young age, but unlike others, he wasn’t keen to go into battle.

Dean, on the other hand, looked at the matter as one big joke – as he did best. “C’mon,” he said and tugged at Castiel’s arm, pulling him closer. “Would you?”

“I refuse to cooperate with this,” Castiel insisted, but the softening of his voice as Dean’s lips fluttered across his cheek weakened his argument. He grimaced and pulled Dean into a kiss before pushing him away.

“I should leave.”

“Will you come back tomorrow?” Dean asked as Castiel stood up, stealing another hasty kiss before they parted.

“The day after,” Castiel promised. The next day he would meet his future bride, and he assumed his aunt wasn’t about to let him out of her sight.

He left Dean’s cabin with a heavy heart, his mind on the frisky redhead he was bound to wed.

He wondered how hard it could be to hide a lover for about sixty years.

~

The spacious rooms of the castle were much more welcoming at daytime than during the night.

There were no curtains in the assemblies room, and through the glass windows the sun shone brightly on the queen and her companions while they waited.

At last, the heavy wooden doors opened and through them entered a well-dressed procession. The princess was second to enter, her long green dress dragging across the floor after her.

With a clutter, the princess’ escorts bowed before the queen and took their seats, the princess being last to approach the queen and her nephew.

“Forgive us, your highness” she uttered as she bowed lightly. “The structure of the place is a bit… Perplexing.”

“We got lost,” one of her guards explained, and she nodded abashedly. Castiel hid his smile behind a palm that conveniently covered his mouth.

“Well, then,” Amara said, her voice rumbling quietly across the silent room, and the discussion began.

Traditionally, the Queen or the King travelled with their daughter to negotiate the details of the marriage with the prince’s parents.

Celeste represented her own. She spoke in front of the Queen, and Castiel had no interest in the conversation. He nodded apathetically at any question he was asked; it didn’t matter to him whether the Middleton king was to transfer Amara two hundred thousand or four hundred thousand coins of gold to fund the wedding, or in which consistency the princess was to return to Middleton and assist her mother’s ruling once the king passed away. He didn’t care for the money, nor for the company of his future wife. His mind was elsewhere; he examined the princess’ eyes, green as the open lands’ grass, and they reminded him of another pair of eyes. He looked at her dress, her cleavage, the thin sunflower heels that were only visible since her dress folded as she was sitting down. Finally, his eyes fixated on the thin strings of flames flowing from the top of her head. He tried to imagine waking up in the morning to the sight of her hair spread across the sheets – but instead of the chiseled walls of the castle he saw a ceiling made of logs, and rather than the princess’ face he saw freckles and morning stubble.

He couldn’t shake the small cabin out of his mind.

The long morning hours passed faster than Castiel had imagined they would. To his interest and his aunt’s surprise, Celeste hardly argued against Amara’s negotiations, and by noon the discussion ended. The queen stood up, and the whole room rose with her.

“We’ll give you two a few moments to get to know one another,” she said, and it wasn’t long before the prince and the princess were left alone.

“So… Do you want to move to the sofa or something?” The princess asked, her tone awkward.  “I don’t really know what to do in these situations.”

Now that he paid attention to her voice, he noticed for the first time how pleasant it was.

“Sure.” Castiel’s voice carried away in the big empty room. They stood up, their heavy chairs screeching against the floor, and sat on a cushioned sofa at the side of the room, as far apart as they could in the small space.

“So… What do you like to do?” She asked.

“Um,” Castiel answered wittily. His brain fired answers at him, but they were all useless. _Go to the cliff with Dean. Go to the market with Dean. Chase rabbits with Sam. Burn my food while Dean tries to teach me how to cook._

“Uh… I like to go outside,” he said eventually. “Take trips around the forest with D- uh, friends.” He stammered, trying to cover up for his mistake, but the princess’ eyes lit.

“You have friends?” She stared at him with such enchantment that Castiel’s chest tightened. She seemed lonely – as lonely as he would’ve been if he didn’t have Dean and his brother.

“I- um- not really,” he stuttered. He tried to breathe, but his throat felt tight. He barely even opened his mouth and he already messed up; it would be utterly impossible to keep his relationship with Dean secret for years-

“Look, Celeste-“

“Call me Charlie,” she said, smiling at him. He was about to blurt out an excuse to escape the room and never meet her again, but her comment baffled him.

“W-what?”

She looked down, her perfectly clipped fingernails digging into her palms. She was nervous, he only now noticed. He wondered why.

“My parents named me Celeste, and that’s what everyone back home calls me. I know it’s stupid, but… I’ve grown to hate that name. It’s a name people expect things from, want something from. So when my dad sent me on trips outside the kingdom, I started changing my name… Finding new clothes, and going out on the streets without being recognized…” She looked at him. “Don’t tell anyone, please.”

Castiel nodded bewilderedly – he was well trained at keeping secrets, but this one was oddly forlorn for a respected royalty.

“So, um, how is it to have friends?” She asked after a moment – whether it was genuine interest or a poor attempt to break the awkward silence, he couldn’t tell, but he was reluctant to follow that direction of the conversation.

“I train with the knights,” he explained. “It creates somewhat of a profound bond. You could say I made a friend there.” That wasn’t a complete lie – preparing for war with dozens of other men was an unusual experience; it wasn’t how he met Dean, though.

Charlie stared at him expectantly, her eyes bright with interest, and he continued hesitantly.

“Most times it’s wonderful. But sometimes… It gets tiring. When we fight, I have nowhere to go. Sometimes when I can’t see him, I stay in my room for days.  That’s when I realize how useless I actually am. He has a job, a house, a brother to take care of. He works every day to make sure his brother has dinner. I would get ten times his dinner even if I sat in my room and stared at the walls for days.”

He’s never shared these thoughts with anyone before, and he fretted the princess’ reaction. She, on the other hand, seemed sunken in her own memory lane.

“I feel like that all the time,” she said, her voice distant.

“Don’t you have friends at all?” Castiel wondered quietly. She seemed smart, and she was beautiful – surely someone she met found a loyal friend in her, didn’t they? She shook her head, though, her expression composed.

“I’ve always felt different, and now I know I was.” She let out a short, bitter laugh, but cut it off instantly, looking up at Castiel as if she said too much.

“How do you mean?” He asked, his voice still tender. He didn’t look away from her eyes.

“I was a weird kid,” she said, her tone apologetic, accompanied with half a faint smile. Her expression clarified she didn’t think he could understand, but Castiel spent his childhood years mocked and pushed aside for many reasons, and being utterly uninterested in the opposite sex was the cherry at the top.

“Me too,” he answered, his voice heavy with sore memories. He smiled at her, placing a reassuring hand on hers.

Hesitantly, she smiled back.

~

One of Castiel’s favorite places in the kingdom was the cliff. It was an hour’s ride on a horse away from Amara’s castle and it was desolate, the only place Castiel felt truly forgotten in.

The only place he didn’t feel the need to look behind his back when he was with Dean.

“Do you ever wish we could walk around in public together?”

Dean looked at him.

He was lying on his stomach, his head propped atop of his forearms, watching the extensive valley. He was dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, placed in his favorite spot from which he could see the most of the kingdom. He could watch a candy-sized couple kiss down Builders Hood, but even the sharpest eye couldn’t see him kiss Dean from down there.

“How do you mean?” Dean asked. Castiel tried to explain.

“I mean – what if I didn’t have to hide my identity when I went to meet you? What if we could just stroll down the streets holding hands and buying vegetables at the market? Or draw the curtains when we wanted the sunlight to come in?”

“We can’t do that, Cas.” Dean’s fingers fluttered back and forth across his spine, and he sounded sad.

“I know, but – what if we could?”

Dean looked into his eyes, and Castiel sat up.

“That’d make life way easier,” he replied, following Castiel’s motions and placing his palms on the grass behind him to support himself. He didn’t care for the view as much as his lover did; all he was interested in was right beside him on that cliff, something he wasn’t sure Castiel would understand and therefore he was reluctant to share with him.

Castiel flipped a plucked flower between his fingers, his expression somber. He plucked another flower out of the ground, and tied the two stems together. Dean watched him quietly, a delicate smile sneaking onto his face.

“What?” Castiel mumbled without looking up. He plucked more and more flowers, somehow seeming both absent-minded and concentrated in his work at once.

“Just recalled something,” said Dean, his small smile still intact as he continued to watch Castiel’s movements. “I hardly think of the old days anymore,” he chuckled.

“What about the old days?” Castiel asked abstractedly, but his lips started curving up as well, following Dean’s train of thoughts.

Dean let out a sigh, watching the clouds. “Things seemed better as a fifteen years old boy falling in love for the first time,” he wondered aloud.

Castiel snorted. “Have I aged that much in five years?”

 _“Nothing seems as pretty as the past,”_ Dean hummed.

Castiel deserted his handiwork for a moment in favor of squinting and touching Dean’s hair. “Oh, wait, I see a gray hair.”

“Shut up.” Dean laughed and pushed his chest gently.

Castiel resumed his work. A few moments later, he held up a wide green-and-white ring.

“Flower crown.” He placed it on Dean’s head. “It suits you.”

He watched his creation, smiling with satisfaction. The daisies matched Dean’s white shirt, and as simple as his appearance was, he seemed almost majestic to Castiel.

“Now we’re both princes,” he added, and Dean leaned forward to kiss him.

“I love you, you know?” There was something dispirited in Dean’s eyes.

Castiel smiled. “Not so bad being in the present now, huh?”

“Not as long as we’re here, no,” Dean mumbled. He planted little kisses on Castiel’s lips, his cheeks, down his neck. His lips barely brushed Castiel’s skin, but the touch felt heavy somehow.

“I love you. I love you, I love you.”

Castiel swallowed, his fingers resting in Dean’s hair. What he hoped was just superstition was rumbling deep in his stomach, and he pulled Dean closer.


	2. Artemis and Apollo

Amara was quick, and it wasn’t more than a week since the Middleton princess has arrived until an engagement ball was planned and executed.

It took place at the castle’s ball room – a spacious hall on the second story that was easily able to hold a few hundreds of guests.

The decoration was luxurious – wooden tables covered with satin maps stood against the walls, and on them were placed dozens of different kinds of food. On a platform in the middle of the room was a small orchestra, playing soft tunes. Castiel made his way between flower arrangements and well-dressed guests, heading toward the pastries table.  A flash of yellow cloth at the top of the stairwell caught his eye, and he glanced up to see the princess striding down the stairs.

“Nice view, huh?” Castiel looked away to find Dean, dressed in his best apparel, plucking a red candy out of a bowl by the desserts table.

“Care to explain what am I doing here?”

“I told Amara my father would want the knights to be here,” Castiel answered. “For some reason, you peasants meant a whole lot to him.” Dean smiled, stopping himself from smacking Castiel’s arm. He took another red candy instead.

“Except that, you could use a night off,” Castiel added, more quietly now.

“I’m doing just fine without attending a party thrown for my boyfriend’s future wife, thank you very much.” Dean leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “And except that – I have a brother back home to take care of.”

“I’m sure Sam is doing just fine without you,” Castiel answered dryly. Dean didn’t respond. He examined the room, his stare as idle as his posture. Then, only his eyes breaking his body’s stillness, he looked at Castiel. No one was near them. Dean tilted his head slightly to the left, and the two men moved simultaneously.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s complaining,” Dean said conversationally as they passed by a duchess and a prince crossing arms. As soon as they were out of earshot, Dean deserted the pretense of casual conversation and fell silent again.

They only had to maintain their offhanded expressions for a few more moments before they reached a back door that lead to a dark, abandoned garden.

“Listen, Sam’s on a school travel next week so I-“ Castiel’s eyes became slowly accustomed to the dark, and when he could finally see the outlines of the garden, he hurried to cover Dean’s mouth with his hands. On one of the stone benches sat a dark figure and looked at the sky. Castiel shoved Dean back into the ballroom, and the figure turned toward the noise.

“Cel- uh, Charlie,” Castiel said, recognizing her fiery hair.

“Did I interrupt a conversation?” She asked and moved to enable him to sit beside her. Castiel sat down, resisting the urge to look back and check whether Dean was still behind them.

“That-? Ah, I was just chatting with an acquaintance,” he rushed to say. “What are you doing out here?”

“Just taking a break,” she said. “Parties are not exactly my cup of tea.”

“Tell me about it,” Castiel muttered mindlessly while trying to look sideways at the door without moving his head.

“Looks like we’re getting along well enough,” she said gloomily. Her fingers traced the outlines of the small Artemis that balanced one foot on the bench’s armrest, the other foot rising gracefully behind her. Charlie stroked her stone hair pensively.

“Does the nature of our relationship upset you?” Castiel asked, his own smile glum. On his side of the bench sat an Apollo, smiling impudently and reaching out a hand. Castiel tried to look away, but Apollo’s eyes were warm as if they held pieces of the sun itself in them, and Castiel’s eyes fixated on his figure.

“When I arrived here, I hoped you’d be another jerk so I could go back to my parents and refuse to get married. They’d get mad but I’d throw a fit and they’d have to search me another match because I’m their only child and they have to keep me around. But you’re kind to me.” Castiel looked at her; her lively green eyes sparkled where the moonlight hit them. Something in her belonged there, on a stone bench in a dark garden, within well-kept bushes and colorful flowers. Beautiful, yet lonely. Silent.

Her voice was almost a whisper when she continued. “I’m afraid if I reject you I’ll give up my chance for any sort of happiness.” She stopped suddenly, looking up at him.

“I’m sorry. Did I offend you?” She asked sincerely, as though she has forgotten they were two crown heirs who were supposed to be falling in love somehow.

Castiel's eyes lingered on her face, taken aback. She stared back, her eyes concerned, before he recalled being asked a question and mumbled a distracted “no”. Inside his head, gears began to grind. Him alone recoiling the upcoming wedding didn’t make any difference; the _both_ of them refusing to marry, though… But how could he stop the wedding? There was no way of convincing Charlie to act without exposing his motives.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled, standing up clumsily.

He had to talk to Dean.

 ~

If you had a sweet tooth, the best time to visit the market was Sunday afternoon. The neighborhoods around it had founded Baking Sunday a long time ago, and the afternoon streets weren’t as busy as the mornings were.

For Castiel, sunset was the perfect time of the day to walk among the people with his ordinary black cloak, the darkening sky keeping his face undetected.

Even at its calm hours, the market was brimming with peasants that gathered around the bread stalls and children coaxing their mothers to check out stands of colorful cakes and sugar-coated fruit slices. Behind the stands, rows of torches were already alight. Castiel made way through the people, making sure to keep his eyes down and his face covered. He hurried toward the pies stand, where a tall man was searching for his favorite flavor. The clatter of voices all around seemed to have faded when Castiel approached the man; he didn’t say a word.

“I’ll take the pecan pie,” said the man and scratched his freckled nose, glancing at Castiel while the vendor wrapped his pie up.

“Thanks, Jo,” he said as she gave him the pie, and handed her a few coins. She smiled back, a bit too sweetly in Castiel’s opinion, and he grabbed Dean’s arm and pulled him away.

“Hello to you too,” Dean muttered. “Look what I got.” He lifted the pie and smiled. Castiel started walking and Dean followed him.

“Have you thought about what we discussed?” Castiel asked, his voice low, as the navigated through the crowd.

“I have.” Dean leaned closer. His split second’s hesitation informed Castiel that he wasn’t about to like Dean’s answer. “And I think you should marry her.”

He stopped walking, glaring at Dean, knowing he couldn’t make a scene out in the open.

“Just listen for a second, you rock-brain.” Dean rested a hand on his arm and dropped it just as quickly. He resumed their walk, though, forcing Castiel to keep up. “The girl’s right. It’s better you have a chill princess as your wife than end up with some monster. Oh, look.” They halted by the berries stall. With a mischievous smile Dean grabbed a couple of raspberries from the hand-out bowl and smashed them in his hand, holding it against his abdomen.

“I’m dying,” he croaked. “Help me-“

“This is no laughing matter,” Castiel cut him off and walked past him, secretly rolling his eyes. “I’m not willing to execute the wedding if I have a chance of convincing her to cancel it.” They burst out of the crowded market area and into Dean’s serene neighborhood.

“I don’t want you to get married either, you dumbass-“

“Would you stop execrating me-“

“-But if you pass up this opportunity, your beloved auntie will just find someone else to hook you up with, and the next one’ll probably be a lot worse.” They entered Dean’s cabin, sprawling on the dining chairs. Dean put his pie on the table. “Or worse – you two will fall madly in love with each other and you’ll leave me.” His eyebrows rose with reproof. Castiel knew he was joking, but behind his words hid a genuine fear which he’d expressed in front of the prince before.

 “I’m not going to leave you…” Castiel’s voice faded as a tall figure came out of the bedroom.

“What are we arguing about?” Sam asked and slumped on a chair beside his brother, unwrapping Dean’s pecan pie and taking a slice.

“He wants to cancel the wedding.”

“Oh,” Sam uttered and swallowed his pie, his tone suggesting he was already informed on the subject. “I’ll come back later, then.” He stood up, grabbing another piece of pie before he left the room.

Dean stuck his thumb in the bedroom’s direction. “He agrees with me; he always stands up for you when he thinks you’re right.”

“Sorry, Cas,” Sam’s voice called from the bedroom. Castiel dipped his head. Dean reached out to take his hand from the other side of the table, speaking softly.

“Something’s on your mind today.”

“I want to be with you.” He strained his voice to sound collected, but it came out weak.

“You are.” Dean’s lips curled up kindly, but his smile withered. Castiel pursed his lips, but the words flowed out of his mouth against his will.

“What if it just can’t work, Dean? This situation is only getting more complicated with each year passing.” He looked into Dean’s eyes, his eyebrows furrowing helplessly as Dean squeezed his hand. From the bedroom came a suspicious silence. “What if one of us gives up?”

Dean moved to sit by Castiel, placing an arm around his back.

“Does any of us strike you as the type that gives up?” He asked, his tone reassuring. “If you love someone enough, you find a way to make it work.”

Castiel rested his head on Dean’s shoulder, his nose touching Dean’s neck. His skin had the faint scent of soap, wood and sweat. Castiel let his eyes close, giving way for Dean’s scent and the softness of his shirt to be all he sensed at the moment.

“Fate has a strange sense of humor,” he murmured. Dean’s thumb brushing little, comforting circles on his back was his only reaction. 


	3. Falling

Castiel didn’t change his mind. He left Dean’s house determined to find a way to avoid the upcoming wedding, but the more time he spent with the princess, the fonder he grew of her. She was clumsy and awkward, and Castiel started seeing a bit of himself in her confusion, and her despair. He started coming to her when he’d have a fight with Dean, presenting him as a friend and doing his best to keep the nature of their relationship secret. Untypically for the other princesses he’d met, Charlie was a good listener. Eventually, Castiel found himself a week before the wedding, hesitantly calling her a friend.

The wedding preparations were underway, and Amara made a habit out of inviting the princess to the royal family's meals. Charlie's awkward chatter with the Queen was easier to tolerate than Amara's usual lectures for Castiel to find a wife and train consistently as a soldier, which she had brought up often when it was just the two of them. 

Either way, Castiel was beginning to realize, Charlie's talking put him out of the danger zone. Now, she was sitting across the table from him, asking Amara about the history of the Edlund kingdom while Castiel played with his food absently with Charlie kicking his leg beneath the table when a question was directed toward him. While he was moving cauliflower around his plate indifferently, he felt another kick at his shin.

He looked up.

“My father made a revolution in the kingdom,” he mumbled a reply to his aunt’s question, which was asked as if to test his knowledge. Charlie, on the other hand, looked at him with interest.

It all happened before he was born.

“Before he was coronated, this place was a tiny village of the poor and the sick. He somehow managed to turn it into a flourishing land, a home for people of all sorts. Still a small kingdom compared to others, but a strong and lively one. The people worshipped him like he was some kind of a god.” He was speaking to Charlie now, finding it easier to speak to her than to his aunt. She seemed engaged.

“That was, until his sister poisoned him and took over the throne.”

“Castiel!” Amara scolded him, but Charlie smiled.

“He died in the battlefield, didn’t he?” She turned to the queen.

“One of many,” Castiel muttered. The room fell silent.

Eventually, he was excused of the table.

Charlie caught up with him at the hall.

“Hey, you alright?”

“Sure,” he answered mechanically. She put a hand on his shoulder, pausing in front of her room. The ends of her turquoise dress dragged across the floors behind her, swaying in place as she halted.

“Wanna come in?” She asked softly, opening the heavy door. He followed her inside.

“Just some family issues,” he explained, watching her lock the door with a squint.

“I didn’t invite you in to discuss your emotional health,” she admitted, motioning at the bed. “Please sit. We should talk.” Castiel sat down reluctantly.

“We’ve been… Befriending. I hope.” She took a seat beside him, taking her shoes off. Castiel nodded patiently.

“I…” She sighed, looking down. “There’s something you should know.”

He rested his hand on hers. “Take your time.”

She struggled.

“We’re about to spend the rest of our lives together,” she blurted out eventually.

“Correct,” he said with a small smile.

“Well…” She paused before beginning to speak quickly and incoherently, anxiety rising in her tone the longer she spoke. “Since we are, you’ll have to know this, because I can’t keep this a secret forever, but if you know this, you might leave, and I- I’m-“ She took in a shaky breath. “It’s a complicated situation.”

“You said we were friends,” was Castiel’s response.

“Yes?” Charlie said hesitantly, as though she herself wasn’t sure of the answer.

“We might not know much about friends, but from what I heard, they’re supposed to support one another. I won’t judge.” He smiled softly. In his head, though, the gears began to grind. _If you know this, you might leave?_ Could that mean he had a way out? Could the wedding still be cancelled?

Did… Did he want it to be cancelled? He liked Charlie…

He liked Charlie, but however terrible this secret of hers was, it obviously didn’t prevent her from wanting to marry him, from falling in love with him, maybe even from – he gulped with horror – wanting to have children with him. Was that really what he wanted to commit to for the rest of his life?

They looked at one another, each heir immersed in their own impossible dilemma. It was odd, Castiel would think later on, how two people could sit side by side, each of them introverted with their own fears and cautious calculations, not knowing they were sharing the exact same feelings.

When Charlie finally opened her mouth her expression was composed, and she was looking at the floor in an attempt to keep it that way.

“I don’t like you,” she let out with an exhale. Castiel didn’t understand; didn’t she just say-

“I mean, you’re nice and all – as a friend, but I’m-“ she started talking too quickly again, and some of her words as though slammed into one another and came out in pieces. “I’m never going to fall in love with you. I’m never going to want to have children with you, or to sleep with you at all, and these are things you should have – you _need_ to have, but I can’t give them to you because I just- I don’t like guys… that way.”

Castiel gaped at her, his mind draining from thoughts. Met with a decisive silence, she looked up.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” she said when she saw his expression. Despite her words, something in her eyes turned cold. “But I thought you had the right to know. It’s not something I can hide forever, anyway.”

She looked away, and Castiel knew he had to speak before the burden crushed her shoulders.

“Well… That’s awkward,” he finally said. It occurred to him that this might not have been the way to make her feel better.

“You think?” Charlie buried her head in her hands. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.” Her voice came out muffled.

“No, that’s awkward,” he repeated. “Because I am, too.”

Charlie looked up hesitantly.

“You don’t like guys either?” She frowned. “I know that.”

“No, not that. I am gay, too.”

The princess’ frown deepened. “What’s that?”

Castiel explained. It was a term he’d learned from Dean, who heard it from another soldier that was like them. The guy had claimed it was a common phrase among the _community,_ which had taken both Dean and Castiel by surprise since they’ve never heard about another person like them up until then. For that reason, Castiel understood Charlie’s confusion.

“You see,” he said when he was finished.

“Oh,” Charlie blurted and grabbed his hand.

“It just makes things more complicated, though,” said Castiel after a moment of absent silence. It seemed as though both of them were weighing the consequences of the discovery. The princess, on the contrary, was on a different train of thoughts. 

“No,” she murmured, gripping his hand tighter and looking at him with a spark of excitement. “No, it’s perfect! We won’t have to pretend when we’re alone. Neither of us will ever expect the other to have a romantic relationship or to have sex. We’ll never have to worry again about pretending to love someone we can’t.” Her eyes glistened with enthusiasm, and she almost fell over the bed in an attempt to hug him tightly. Castiel, on the other hand, was reluctant.

“But it’s the perfect opportunity to avoid the wedding,” he mumbled in her arms. His argument sounded weak in his own ears.

“We’ll never get in one another’s way, we get along well so no one will ever suspect…” Charlie tattled on happily. “And when the time for children comes we’ll figure it out; it’s surely better than some girl trying to mount you every time you go to bed, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” he murmured dejectedly.

“Why do you have such an issue with marriage?” Charlie asked and climbed on the bed, leaning back against its headboard. She seemed much calmer now than just a moment ago.

“It’s hard to pretend you love someone when you know how it feels to love for real,” he murmured. He was still sitting on the edge of the bed and Charlie patted the spot beside her, urging him to join her. Hesitantly, he took his shoes off and sat beside her. He had to admit, there was something liberating in the informal way his legs rested on the bed, spread apart, and in the comfortable way his fiancée lay beside him. He felt somewhat like a child.

“And I guess it’s harder to trust someone with their loyalty, especially if that someone is a good poseur,” he added once he settled on the bed. Charlie looked at him, perplexed for a long moment, and then jumped onto her knees and clasped his arm.

“You have a lover.”

Castiel shrugged. “He can get quite paranoid when I meet…” She didn’t seem to listen.

“Dean!” She called excitedly after another thought process. “It’s your _friend,_ isn’t it? The one you keep telling me about.”

Castiel just nodded silently this time.

“Oh my lord, tell me everything!” She pleaded.  Castiel didn’t comment on her clearly overly-excited behavior; he knew loneliness well, and he knew even better the feeling of finally being able to share his deepest thoughts with someone else.

“Well, I met him six years ago and we got together around a year…”

“How did you meet?” Charlie interrupted him.

“My brother found him…”

“Where did he come from? What happened to his family? You said they died.” She looked like a puppy expecting a walk.

Castiel sighed. “I might as well just tell you which doctor delivered him, huh?”

She grinned at him.

“Well then. I’ll start from the beginning.”

Not many people over this side of the mountains have heard about the Winchester kingdom; yes, it was big, but it was far away, and crumbling to pieces even before the fire happened.

Mary Campbell was the kingdom’s general when she met John Winchester. It was a love story full of secrets – but Charlie didn’t care about that. She urged Castiel to move on.

“It was just when my father had exiled Lucifer and he found a place to settle in and a few followers of his own. He sent some of them to the Winchester kingdom and-“

“You’re doing it again.”

“What?” He looked over at her.

“Being boring. Except that, I know that story. These guys set fire in the capital because they didn’t get what they wanted, and with a burnt-to-the-crisp capital the whole kingdom fell apart. Your brother got a bad reputation for tearing down a whole kingdom.”

“Pretty much,” Castiel concluded, his expression sealed. He tried not to let the memories of growing up with his brother show on his face; would she be weirded out if he told her he missed Lucifer?

He wasn’t keen to find out.

“For all Dean knows, his parents died that day. He wandered around with his little brother until they got here. For a few months, they slept on the streets or in the woods, mostly living off of stolen food. That was when my eldest brother caught Dean stealing from the palace.”

“How did he get inside?”

Castiel smiled; he was oddly proud of Dean being able to perform the impressive amount of crimes he could. “Through the chimney.”

“Then?”

“Michael brought him to the king, expecting a reward for his trouble, but my father sat Dean down and asked him to defend his motives. Dean claimed he was stealing food for Sam, for him to have dinner that night.”

“Did he lie?”

Castiel looked at her, his lips curving upwards; she was a sharp one.

“Not completely. It wasn’t necessary – it was Sam’s birthday, and Dean wanted to give him a present. He wasn’t about to tell his brother he’d stolen it, of course – Sam is a bit more of a moral person than his brother. Anyway, my father-“

“Did he tell you that?” Charlie interrupted again. “Or were you there?”

“He told me, shortly before we got together.”

“Did it upset you?” She asked. “That he was stealing from you?”

Castiel huffed, pondering at her question. Was he upset? At that point, Dean could have thrown a man off the roof and Castiel would simply adore his muscles that allowed him to do so.

“I was adapted to my brother stealing things by then," he answered finally. "Gabe used to do it just for fun, and most times he returned what he took.” Castiel shrugged. “Under my father’s nose, I was educated to believe thievery was not as serious a crime as others.” He looked to his right, expecting another disruption, but Charlie didn’t have a following question. He went on.

“My father saw potential in Dean; a fourteen years old kid who could sneak into the castle so easily – imagine what he could do in war.” He grimaced at a couple of memories that came to mind.

“Of course, they made sure to block the top of the chimneys with bars.”

Charlie smiled.

At the time, the kingdom was – as it seemed to be more often than not – at war, and all of the king’s combat trainers have left for the battlefield. He ordered his sons to train the young Winchester, but Raphael hadn’t come back from the battlefield yet – a matter that seemed temporary at the time – and Castiel was undertrained. Michael claimed that if Dean came near him, he’d kill him and make a sword out of his bones, and so the only Edlund left was Gabriel, who harmonized with Dean strangely well.

“As expected, Dean became a very good soldier,” Castiel mentioned dryly.

“Did he ever go to war?” Charlie asked, her tone tender.

“Well,” Castiel mused, and for a split second his lips curved up with dark humor. “Luckily, another war occurred just a couple of years later. We’re lucky he came back with merely physical scars.” The ends of his lips pulled downwards, and he drifted into sorrow once again. “We’re lucky he came back,” he said more quietly, and his mind was with the ones who weren’t. His brothers, as it seemed, were picked out one by one during the ongoing wars as if the reaper was a horticulturist plucking out the best-scented flowers in his garden, until the ground was empty.

Empty, with the exception of a single root, refusing to let go of the soil that was his home.

Charlie touched his hand.

“Why do you guys have so many wars?” She asked.

Castiel didn’t answer.

She let it go, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Tell me about how you and Dean got together,” she asked. He seemed lost.

“How did you meet?” She specified.

“I went to the barn to call for Gabriel one day,” he explained reluctantly. “It was a deserted structure that was supposed to hold the horses, but they were, ah, all in use at the time.” He straightened up, soaking the vibe of the young encounter. “When I told Gabe dad wanted to see him, he suggested I’d replace him training Dean.”

 _Dad would be happy,_ he said. Castiel looked at the mysterious boy that has been appearing around the court lately – he didn’t seem so mysterious from up close, with his dirty clothes and wide eyes watching his tutor who was about to abandon him – and he took the wooden sword from Gabriel’s hand.

“I’ll be back,” Gabriel promised vaguely and turned to walk away. “Meanwhile, Cassie here can teach you left-handed charge.”

The boy reached out a hand. “I’m Dean.”

Castiel mumbled his own name, shaking the hand that was offered to him. Merely the fact that a boy more handsome than him was in the room made his palms sweat, and he pulled his hand away quickly. He gawkily explained he wasn’t nearly as well-trained as his brother, and that he wasn’t sure what he had to offer. Dean smiled and said, with relief, that he didn’t mind a break. They ended up laying on a stack of hay, talking rather than fighting.

“We became close friends with time,” he told Charlie. “My father kindly offered Dean a small cabin in town in return to his services in the royal army, granted to him after his training was complete. Meanwhile, Dean and I began to sneak out together; we would find secret places to sit and talk for hours in. He was a good student, and it was a while before I noticed he’d stopped improving.”

“Afraid of the war?” Charlie wondered, but Castiel shook his head; Dean wasn’t one to avoid responsibility.

“When I asked him about it, he took me to his room and locked the door, much like you did today,” he told Charlie. “He said he was afraid that if he left the castle, he wouldn’t be able to see me anymore. Now, you need to understand, I was helplessly in love at that point. I knew the odds were against me, but I couldn’t wait another day; I had to get it out.”

Words were easier than actions, in their own way. When Castiel confessed his feelings for Dean, though, he wasn’t met with the reaction he was hoping for.

_“That’s not good.”_

Castiel slumped onto the bed, his fingers clutching its edge. Dean was pacing around the room, not looking at him.

“That’s bad. Shit.”

“Oh.” He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. He mumbled a scrappy apology.

“Oh,” Dean blurted himself then, and sat down beside Castiel.

“No, I feel the same way, of course.” Despite the confidence in which the words were said, Dean’s face flushed red. “But you’re – you’re supposed to marry a princess. Now, do we start with the same-sex thing, or with the statuses – I mean, just pick. There’s no way we’ll be accepted, especially not at such a young age.”

“You… _Of course?_ What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re…” Dean’s face reddened.

“A prince?” Castiel asked indifferently.

“Smart,” Dean mumbled, looking down. “And funny. And stuff.”

Castiel didn’t know what Dean meant by _and stuff,_ but he smiled.

“We decided to keep our relationship secret,” Castiel told Charlie now. “At first, not even Sam knew.”

“How is it?” Charlie asked quietly. Her expression was held back, as though she was trying to suppress sorrow. “Being in love?”

“A pain in the ass,” Castiel chuckled. “Or maybe it’s just Dean that’s a pain to handle. But it gives you purpose, in a sense. Makes life about someone else other than you, you know? You have someone to take care of, someone to worry about.”

“I don’t,” Charlie answered. Her eyes seemed hollow. Castiel tried not to feel bad for her.

“Hey, you’re not alone anymore. You’ve got a fiancé now.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “At some point my joints will start cracking, and you’ll be the one who has to take care of them.”

She looked up at him with a dismal smile. “But who’ll take care of me?”


	4. Routine

At this point, it is well known that Castiel has been doing his best to avoid any sort of fighting for years. There were weeks, nonetheless, in which he wasn’t able to see Dean as much as he wanted to, or he was in a particularly good mood and was willing to please his aunt for a change. Then, he would show up at the training stadium with his sword and his armor, take off his cloak and join the training.

The soldiers tended to treat him kindly. They didn’t show him the fear or the respect they had shown his brothers – the warriors knew him as a lanky little child, who learned their jokes and brought them water while his brothers tried to kill them with wooden swords – and Castiel was grateful for that.

It was also well known that Dean and Castiel were what was considered close friends – according to the rumor, since Dean was grateful toward the king and therefore to all his relatives, and since Castiel was the most humane of his siblings, the two have somehow formed a profound bond.

Now, not having seen Dean for a few long days, Castiel showed up at the door of the stadium, greeted with no more than a couple of hails. Dean left his opponent and strode toward the prince.

“M’lord,” he knelt in front of Castiel. A few men laughed, others smiled; Dean was the only one brave – or stupid – enough to show disrespect for the prince.

Castiel smiled. “Grab your sword, assbutt.”

And the training renewed.

Having been training for war every day for years, Dean was undoubtedly a better warrior than Castiel, and he didn’t pass an opportunity to remind him of that. Castiel would often trip, but he was agile in his own way, and more than once Dean found himself – often lying under the weight of the prince – with a sword against his throat.

Today, however, Castiel didn’t trip. His sword hit Dean’s once, twice, three times, before it hit the metal shield that protected Dean’s chest, and he lost his balance and plummeted backwards.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked quietly and reached out a hand; he didn’t mean for the strike to be so powerful.

“Yeah.” Dean grabbed his hand and pulled himself up, catching his breath.

Recovered from the blow, Dean looked at Castiel.

“Is the princess not sufficient in bed, or did you just have a bad day?” He teased. The only reply he got was a sharp movement that placed Castiel’s sword between his eyes, so swift that Dean was almost knocked over again.

“Don’t-“ Castiel opened, but a humored voice from the entrance interrupted him.

“No need to get upset,” said the figure and stepped closer. “I thought it was funny.”

Dressed in a simple white shirt, leather trousers and boots instead of her typical long dresses and high heels, Castiel took a moment to recognize her.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, approaching her. From a corner of the dead-silent room came a whisper. “M’lady.”

“My lady,” Castiel repeated with a suppressed smile. “It seems as though this imbecile’s comment made me forget my manners.” He gestured at Dean.

“I came to practice, M’lord,” Charlie informed him decisively. “Could you hand me a sword?”

“Does Amara know you’re here?” Castiel raised an eyebrow. The princess frowned, and answered him with a matching lifted eyebrow.

“Are you going to tell her?” She glanced into the other eyes in the room, which were all pointed at her silently.

A couple of moments later, she was standing in front of Castiel wearing a full-body armor, a sword in her hand.

“Has the princess practiced the swords before?” Castiel asked. Now, their conversation was as private as it could be, since he’d ordered the other men to mind their own business and ignore the new trainee. He could still see Dean at the corner of his eye, though, watching him suspiciously.

“The princess has not.”

He turned to look at her; lifting her sword, she added,

“But Charlie has.”

She threw her arm in a wide bow, then, her sword slicing through the air. Castiel leapt backwards swiftly. She aimed another strike at his side, missing by half an inch.

“You’re good,” he panted after an exchange of a couple more blows. “But you could be better.” He lay his blade down and approached her. “Hold your sword with both hands. No- like that.” He took her left hand and placed it above her right. She swiped through the air fleetly.

“Better?” Castiel asked, but she was looking at something behind him.

“I think your boyfriend doesn’t like me,” she muttered quietly. Castiel turned around, finding she was indeed watching Dean’s sore expression.

“Don’t mind him,” he said as he picked up his sword. “He’ll get over it.”

They resumed their practice. Castiel taught Charlie everything she hasn’t learned on her own yet: the weak spots of the enemy’s body, how to strike these spots with a sword, a few tricks to make her training-opponent lose balance, and a brief theoretical guide to the bow and arrows.

They practiced for a while, until Charlie’s self-taught skills beat Castiel’s few years of training for the first time.

“Ha!” She whooped triumphantly as the tip of her blade clashed into the shield protecting Castiel’s heart. The soldiers fell silent and turned to look at the princess’ fist, thrown high in the air; they were clearly unadapted to her strange behavior.

“Now you need to find someone better to practice with,” Castiel said, standing up.

Everyone else was suddenly mute, unwilling to step up.

From the back of the room, Dean stepped forward.

“I volunteer.”

Castiel squinted, but made way as Dean stepped in front of the princess.

“I’ll pray for you to the gods with that attitude,” he mumbled as he approached Dean’s former practice mate, Garth.

He hardly paid attention to the sword in front of him during the next few minutes, but young Garth was politely awestruck of the prince, enough to let him win a few matches. He looked at the princess and the soldier clashing swords, and mistakenly assumed that Castiel was concerned for the princess’ ability to defend herself.

Instead, he was concerned about Dean’s. He was stronger and faster than the princess, and he struck her sword without holding back. This impertinence, more than anything, was likely to get Dean killed.

Charlie, however, handled him well. As an observer, Castiel noticed that being the weaker opponent motivated her; she didn’t have Dean’s strength or experience, but she had another sort of stamina, in her mind. Despite her growing lassitude, she held onto her sword with an impressive determination, and the match lasted much longer than expected. The trainers, one by one, formed a circle that watched the two. Castiel couldn’t blame them; Dean’s flexible and swift movements against Charlie’s experimenting and bold motions resembled and eccentric dance that captivated the eye. But Castiel saw the accusation in Dean’s blows.

“That’s enough,” he determined quietly, and the room stilled. 

“I see we’ve lost interest in training,” he said dryly. “We’re done for the day.”

Several groans and murmurs were heard as the crowd scattered.

Castiel unloaded his armor and went to polish it at the back of the room. At the entrance, Dean was left alone with Charlie, who unloaded her armor as well and sat down against the wall. Dean stood beside her awkwardly, not sure whether to stay or leave, until the princess offered him a seat next to her.

“I’ve heard good things about you,” she said as he sat down.

“Really?” He snorted, eyeing the princess. Yes, as Cas would often remind him, he assumed he did need to mind his tongue better while talking to royalties.

They were silent for a moment; Dean watched Castiel absently.

“He’s dreamy, isn’t he?” Charlie commented. Dean looked at her, scowling unintendedly.

“Relax,” she smiled. “I’m on your side.”

“My side of what, exactly?” Dean muttered. She leaned over and talked quietly in his ear for a long moment, watching his forehead crease and his eyes widen.

“Oh,” Dean blurted as she leaned back against the stone wall. “Shit. Excuse me. I was acting like a jerk.”

She shrugged. “Hasn’t he told you?”

“We haven’t seen each other in a while,” Dean mumbled cheerlessly.

“We decided to get married.”

“Oh. So he came to his senses, that ass,” Dean said. In his mind, though, the words weren’t as lighthearted as they sounded aloud.

They fell silent again. Charlie watched the man sitting beside her, sighing and watching the prince. For him, life couldn’t get more complicated, but she would give anything to have what he had; she found it odd.

After a while, Dean stood up and brushed his pants.

“I better go check whether he needs help or if he’s just sitting there trying to listen to us,” he said before he walked away. Charlie watched him go.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” he said as he approached the prince. Castiel looked up, the look in his eyes distracted.

“I hadn’t managed to tell you,” he said as Dean sat beside him.

“I figured.” He watched as Castiel brushed his armor. “What were you brushing your back shield in the last ten minutes for?”

“I’m thoughtful today.” He put the shield down and turned to whet his sword. Dean looked at his face and tried to catalogue his expression into the list of moods he knew well.

“Gods, how I’d like to kiss you right now,” he mumbled suddenly.

“Surely one kiss won’t hurt,” Castiel said without looking up, and Dean smiled.

On the other side of the room, Charlie stood up.

“You guys go ahead,” she shouted. “I’ll make sure no one enters.”

The both of them looked up. As promised, she walked out and closed the door behind her. Castiel covered his face with his palm and sighed.

“So…” Dean glanced at the door. “How is she?”

“She’s a bit…” Castiel returned to his sword. “What is that word you call Sam for liking his classes?”

“Nerdy?”

“That, I think – she once told me she’s read all the scripts in the Middleton royal library. She gets excited easily. And she’s sad.”

“Sad?” Dean pursed his lips.

“She’s lonely.”

Dean looked toward the door. “She’ll find someone.”

“That’s unlikely.” Castiel put his sword down, keeping his eyes on it.

“You know we got incredibly lucky, right?”

A soft, marshy sound came from the outside, enhancing consistently; it was raining. Looking away, Dean moved his hand and caught Castiel’s.

“Sometimes I forget,” he mumbled. Castiel understood what he meant; it was easy to lose yourself in everyday habits and forget what you’re doing them for.

Dean’s fingers lingered on his, before he pulled his hand away, standing up and grabbing his things. “Well, off to dinner,” he said, and the routine carried on.


	5. A Big Day

Castiel roamed the corridors of the castle, so quickly that it seemed as though his cloak was levitating behind him as he hopped up the stairs and turned left, bursting into the third room down the hall.

“Cancel the wedding,” he blurted without explanation. Charlie turned around promptly, taken aback.

“Or hinder it, or anything. I don’t care.” He paced around in her chamber, uptight.

“What in the gales is going on?” She asked, stepping near him, but he paced away.

“I’m going away and I need you to call the ceremony off.”

“This is really not the time to get cold feet, Cas. We said-“

“I’m not getting cold feet.” He halted in place. His voice came out louder than he’d intended, and he took a breath.

“I’m not backing out,” he said, looking at her. “It’s Dean.”

 

**_A few hours earlier_ **

 

Castiel stood by the window of his chamber, watching his reflection. His inky cloak swirled down his shoulders, matching his dark hair. A fancy silk shirt, not yet tucked inside the leather belt, fit his size perfectly. Earlier, when he visited Charlie’s room, she’d given him a scolding look.

“It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride on the wedding day,” she’d said, her tone ironic.

She’d looked beautiful with her hair falling down her shoulders and touching her white, flowing dress. She’d tried to look down, then distorted her face and approached him.

“I can’t breathe in this thing,” she complained and exaggeratingly knocked on her own stomach. “It’s as hard as a rock. You’re lucky there’s no such thing as a men’s corset.”

“I am,” he’d answered, smiling his quiet smile.

“What did you want?” She’d walked back to her drawer chest and grabbed a necklace that rested on top of it. It was a thin string threaded through a dark jade; she’d untied the string and struggled to tie it again around her neck.

“Gods, I hate wearing dresses.”

“How… Unexpected.” Castiel’s smile had widened. He’d entered the room and helped her tie the lace. “I was feeling useless, so I came to see if you needed any help.”

“I shooed my maids for a reason, Cas. I wanted to be alone in my last moments of freedom.”

He’d let out a sigh. “I know what you mean.”

And she’d shooed him too.

He was pondering at those last moments of freedom when a muted noise caught his attention.

It was a quiet buzz that evolved into a fuss of angry voices. Castiel opened his window and poked his head outside, looking down.

At the gate, a bundle of guards was gathered around a tall, slim peasant, who Castiel happened to recognize. He squinted, took a better look, and hurried down the stairs. While he made his way across the courtyard he tried to listen to the confrontation, but he couldn’t manage to make coherent phrases out of the noisy group.

Reaching the gate, Castiel put a hand on the shoulder of a helmeted guard he couldn’t recognize.

“What is going on here?”

The majority, who have recognized his voice, quietened and straightened their backs. The guards that stood in his way moved aside.

“This child is insisting it is a life-or-death matter that we let him inside the court, my lord,” one of them replied. Castiel looked at the boy; his eyes were begging silently at the prince.

“Come with me,” he said, touching the boy’s back and guiding him out of the circle of armed men who have surrounded him. “If this is not important, you’re in trouble.”

Sam didn’t reply.

As soon as they were inside – behind a closed door in one of the vacant guests’ rooms – Sam let out a breath he seemed to be holding.

“You have to come with me, _now._ ” And he pulled Castiel toward the exit, as if they hadn’t just walked in.

“Sam, this is my wedding day,” Castiel said and yanked his arm free. “I can’t just go wherever I want. The ceremony will begin soon. Now, tell me what happened.”

“It’s Dean,” Sam opened, speaking quickly and incoherently. The more he said, the more solemn Castiel’s expression became, his eyebrows furrowing and his lips pursing.

“He was recruited. The expedition is leaving tonight, he’s already started packing. He’s planning on leaving without telling you – I had to sneak out the bedroom window to come here. Please, Cas,” Sam’s eyes were wide and anxious. “You’ve got to do something.”

Castiel sighed and slumped onto the bed that stood in the middle of the room, resting his head in his hands.

It was simple enough to excuse Dean from his service – Amara would surely spare a single warrior that had a family to take care of – but he had a feeling Dean wasn’t about to be easily convinced to stay.

There wasn’t much to do but try.

He stood up. “Go back home and don’t tell him you were here. I’ll be right after you; I just need to talk to the princess.”

Moments later, he was back at the door of Charlie’s room, not bothering to knock this time.

“Cancel the wedding,” he blurted without explanation. She turned around promptly, taken aback.

“Or hinder it, or anything. I don’t care.” He paced around in her chamber, uptight.

“What in the gales is going on?” She asked, stepping near him, but he paced away.

“I’m going away and I need you to call the ceremony off.”

He looked around and searched for something to hold, finally comprehending Dean’s need to grab his amulet or touch his ring whenever he was nervous.

“This is really not the time to get cold feet, Cas. We said-“

“I’m not getting cold feet.” He halted in place. His voice came out louder than he’d intended, and he took a breath.

“I’m not backing out,” he said, his tone calmer, looking at her. “It’s Dean.”

He explained hastily, his fingers latching on to the sides of his cloak abstractedly.

“Even if I can’t convince him to stay,” he concluded, “I have to see him before he leaves.”

With that Charlie couldn’t argue.

“He’s leaving tonight, you say?” She sat down, her corset forcing her spine to stay straight as a plank.

“According to Sam.”

She pursed her lips, deliberating.

“We go through with the ceremony,” she decided. “Then you go. I’ll cover for you through the celebrations.”

Castiel could work with that.

~

It seemed as though the ceremony was designed exceptionally to torture him. The composition of the ornaments, the flower arrangements and the many guests dressed elegantly, the small orchestra playing the Middleton wedding march following the Edlund march, were all there to agitate him with their agonizingly slow pace and their composed serenity. Amara was sitting on an elevated throne behind the scene, watching.

On another day, he might even admit to enjoy the music, or to find the guests tolerable. At the moment, however, his mind was preoccupied with the plan of his escape route as soon as the judge delivered the verdict.

As he was pondering which was the quickest way to Dean’s house – through the woods, or via the main street – the tune suddenly changed and the guests stood up. Castiel looked at the front of the room, from which the princess paced toward him. She was stunning, looking at him – but there was no time to think about that. He looked away.

The shortest route, obviously, was through the streets. But it might not be the fastest – the town was busy at this time of the day, plus - he didn’t want to be recognized, and there was no time to change clothes. So trees it is-?

Charlie reached his side, and from a hidden back entrance stepped an old hunchback enveloped inside a dark purple cloak.

He took what seemed to Castiel forever to approach the scene and place himself between Charlie and her restless fiancé. Settled in between them, he inhaled deeply, yanked a heavy-looking book from inside his cape, and cleared his throat. Then, taking in another long breath, he opened loudly.

“We are gathered here today to bring together the lovely princess of Middleton and prince of Edlund, and join them in the pact of marriage.” He cleared his throat, opening his book ceremonially and reviewing in for a moment, squinting at the small letters. Then, he closed the book with a puff of air and resumed his speech.

“In the beginning of times, there were only two kingdoms ruled by brothers: Abel, and-“ A cough to his right interrupted him. He paused, looking sideways, his white caterpillar eyebrows furrowing above two black beads.

“Is my service insufficient, my lord?” He asked. Castiel, who had blurted out the noise, forced a polite smile.

“I am simply impatient to marry my, ah – lovely fiancée, sir.”

The old man’s caterpillars rose slightly. “I will do my best to hurry, then,” he said, his tone clarifying he will not do his best to hurry. He let out a cough that was stuck in his throat – probably dust, Castiel thought grouchily.

“Now, where was I?”

“The oaths,” Charlie answered kindly by his other side, although the oaths were nowhere near the kingdoms’ historical background in the old sage’s timeline. Nevertheless, he looked at her and let out a “thank you, dear.”

Castiel and Charlie exchanged glances, and he mouthed a grateful “thank you”.

“Now,” the sage called, talking to Castiel. “If that’s alright with you…”

From her high-up throne, Amara finally spoke.

“Adoy, please!” She scolded the old man. He huffed, as though taunting the prince was a toy taken away from him – Castiel frowned – and looked over to his right unwillingly.

“Repeat after me,” he said.

Castiel clutched his fingers to stop them playing with the sides of his cloak – it was almost over, and then he could leave and see Dean again…

“I,” the old man – Adoy – opened. “Castiel, offspring to the Shurley, Novak and Edlund dynasties…” He looked at Castiel expectantly.

Castiel swallowed a nervous cough and made an effort to let his voice reach the back of the room.

“I, Cas- wait, what?” The room, if possible, became stiller than it was before. Adoy’s brows furrowed more determinedly than ever before as his patience expired. “Have you not attended a single history lesson in your life, you condescending prat?”

In fact, Castiel has never attended any sort history lesson, but that was irrelevant at the moment. He stuttered, his face whitening at the old man’s outburst, while the guests finally allowed themselves to whisper their disapproving comments to one another. Charlie looked at him worriedly – he would bet his peace of mind that she, being what Dean called a _nerd,_ knew what Adoy was talking about – but she wasn’t the one who redeemed him this time: Amara stood up, her voice regaining silence in the room.

“Adoy, that’s enough!”

The old man huffed furiously and turned to Castiel.

“Just repeat it,” he blurted, adding a delayed “my lord”.

“I, Castiel,” he stammered out, intimidated by the black beads’ stare that was fixated on him. “Offspring to the sure- uh, Shurley, Novak and Edlund dynasties…” Charlie watched him reassuringly; her stare was somewhat calming, as if it could somehow prevent him from making another mistake. Looking pointedly at the crowd with an uplifted nose, the old man continued his reciting.

“Take thee, princess Celeste of Middleton, to be my rightful bride.”

“Take thee,” Castiel repeated, his stare colliding with the princess’. He couldn’t possibly know what crossed her mind behind the perfectly composed expression, but a glint in her eyes told him that it might have been similar to what he was thinking: he had feared that moment, ran away from it his whole life, but as he was speaking out, the words seemed trivial rather than big and intimidating.

He recited the rest of Adoy’s oath followed by his vows, which all seemed redundantly time consuming, as much as everything else that morning. Charlie declaimed her oath and vows as quickly and coherently as a well-trained warrior showing off different strikes – trying to help him and quicken the process, but making him appear as an even bigger fool for reciting his oath so clumsily.

The old man took his time and it was a couple dozens of minutes before he finally sealed the ceremony with five last words: “You may kiss the bride.”

Charlie looked at him, her expression clarifying she was unprepared for that moment she seemed to have forgotten about, but Castiel didn’t hesitate. He gripped her shoulders and kissed her so adamantly that when he let go she stepped back, weirded out. He didn’t stay put long enough to see her expression, though; it was barely a moment before he was at the wide doors, rushing outside the room as he heard Charlie’s voice behind him:

“Please excuse my husband, he’s feeling unwe-“ The doors closed behind him with a thud. He looked around, disoriented for a moment, before the pieces of the map fell into place and he turned left. Another left turn followed by a right led him to a dark staircase, and from there on the route was as familiar as the palm of his hand.


	6. Swan Song

 Sam was the one who opened the door.

“I figured you changed your mind,” he said, relieved.

“I got held up,” Castiel explained and held his palm up for Sam to see his ring. “I’m not too late, am I?”

“No, you’re not.” Sam stuck a thumb in the bedroom’s direction, where his brother looked up to see who was at the door, stepping out of the room when he recognized the visitor.

“Sam-“ He started, glaring furiously at his brother. The boy was clearly about to get yelled at if not for Castiel, who let himself in and pushed Dean’s chest until they were both inside the bedroom. He shut the door with his foot.

“Listen to me, you dickhead,” he hissed, considering the possibility that Sam was eavesdropping on the other side of the door. Dean’s mouth shut and he looked Castiel over quietly. Castiel glanced down, realizing he was still wearing his wedding clothes, and stopped himself from smiling. Secretly, he hoped his tone and appearance were just as intimidating as Dean seemed to find them. He went on, with an effort to keep his tone strict.

“What in the gales do you think you’re doing?”

“I see Sam managed to update you while he was _bringing water from the well,_ according to him.”

“Dean, this is unbelievable.”

“There’s nothing unbelievable about fulfilling my duty,” Dean countered, rekindling Castiel’s anger.

“Are you-“ he sat on the bed, his fingers shaping holes into his face. “Gods. I could punch you right now.”

“ _You’re_ mad at _me_ -?”

Castiel stood suddenly, only barely restraining a shout.

“Were you honestly planning on going away without telling me?”

Dean looked at him silently, speechless.

“Does this relationship mean so little to you,” he continued, “that you were willing to prevent me from seeing you for what might be the last time?”

“Cas, come on,” Dean said gently, taking his hand, but Castiel pulled it away. “I’m not gonna die.”

“That’s what they all said,” Castiel spat out bitterly, but as the words left his mouth, he dropped onto the bed and put his head in his hands.

“You’re right,” he sighed in a muffled voice. “I’m overreacting.”

The bed sank slightly as Dean sat beside him, wrapping an arm around him.

“I didn’t want to worry you, especially not today,” he said softly, but Castiel huffed angrily.

“Dean-“

“Alright, it was a stupid idea,” Dean interrupted him, rubbing a palm against his back. “But you’re here now, so we better make the most of it.”

Castiel breathed and lifted his head, preparing for another argument.

“That’s something we need to discuss,” he said cautiously. Dean froze, his mouth twitching.

“Just hear me out,” Castiel begged. Dean not responding, he continued. “I can talk to Amara, she’ll let you out with no problem-“

“Cas…”

“Just think about Sam.” His eyebrows curled up pleadingly.

“Sam will do great without me,” Dean countered with a lifted eyebrow.

“Then think about me.”

“Cas, it’s my job,” Dean let out wearily. “I can’t just not do it whenever I decide to.”

“Resign, then.”

“Look, Cas…” Dean hesitated, unconsciously moving his fingers again. “I owe your family everything I have, including my kid brother, and I’m not gonna forget that.”

Castiel looked down at the folds of the crimson sheets, his lips pursed, his expression composed. “Alright.” He touched his new ring, spun it around his finger, watched the shadows’ reflections in the clean gold.

“Alright-?” Dean repeated, taken by surprise. “You’re not gonna argue with me about it?”

“I figured you won’t change your mind.” Castiel’s eyebrows furrowed at the sheets.

“I still had to try.”

Carefully but quickly, Dean caught up with the prince’s thoughts.

“You have a plan,” he accused. His arm dropped from Castiel’s back and fell in his lap. “A plan I’m not gonna like. You’re doing that thing with your face again.” The furrow between Castiel’s eyebrows deepened; he made an effort to ease his features.

“I’m going with you,” he said. Dean looked at him incredulously.

“Are you kidding?”

“Would you have let me go without you?” Castiel looked at him, suppressing the reproof in his voice.

Dean stared at him mutely. His eyes struggled to shape his voice into a _yes,_ but his lips remained unmoving.

“It is established, then,” Castiel said and stood up. “I should go.”

Dean reached for his hand. “Stay,” he said, his eyes begging, _just this once._ Castiel hesitated.

“What happened today?” Dean asked, as if to distract him from his deliberation. Reluctantly, Castiel sat back down and rested his head on Dean’s shoulder.

“I think Satan rose from Hell and took over my body for the morning,” he grumbled exhaustedly.

“How so?” With the hint of a smile Dean planted a kiss on the tip of his head and stood up to resume his packing. He grabbed a couple of shirts from his and Sam’s small closet and shoved them into his bag – a piece of canvas tied together by a thin rope. “I figured the wedding ceremony would take up your whole day,” he added, his tone seemingly casual. Castiel didn’t comment on the distant tint to it, reminding him that Dean had counted on him being engaged for the day.

“After Sam told me about your _plan_ -“ Dean grimaced- “I talked to Charlie, asking her to cancel the wedding, but she insisted we’ll see the ceremony through, which was probably a good decision. She appeared to manage much better under stress than I did.” Dean, with his back to Castiel, rummaged through the closet and took out two pairs of trousers and a brown leather jacket.

“How did you manage?” Dean asked indifferently, putting the clothes in his bag and turning away again. Castiel was quiet for a moment.

“I came as quickly as I could,” was his only response. He progressed with his story, watching Dean’s movements.

“The parson was an old wicked sleaze who called me a condescending prat,” he complained as Dean closed his bag with a pull of the rope.

Dean let out a snort, but came to his senses quickly enough and sat down beside Castiel.

“This really couldn’t have happened in a worse timing, could it?” He said, touching Castiel’s cheek. The other man leaned his head into the touch.

“At least we get to go on a trip together,” Castiel said, his tone ironically naïve. “It might be fun.” He lifted an eyebrow. Dean knew he hated to go regardless of the outcome of their journey, but he couldn’t help believing Castiel’s words.

“It might be,” he smiled.

They left at five in the morning, before the dew of daybreak dissipated. Dean wore his lightest clothes – they were expecting a long ride in the warm weather – under his leather jacket that protected him from the temporary chill. His black cloak, which every warrior was to wear during a battle, was tucked inside his bag.

He’d said his goodbyes to Sam late last night, not expecting him to be up so early the day after, but Sam’s sleep was untypically light that night. He woke up as soon as Dean did, and insisted on seeing him leave.

“I’ll be back in a couple of weeks,” Dean informed him at the door; his expedition was only asserted to stay on the battlefield for a short time before another one replaced it. “Or less – if the prince gets hurt we’re supposed to get back immediately, so if you need me just send a letter with the messenger and I’ll hit Cas or something.”

Sam smiled. “Will do.”

“C’mere,” Dean uttered then and pulled him into a hug. “I’m gonna miss you, Sammy.”

“Me too,” Sam mumbled incoherently, hugging Dean back.

Dean let go and grabbed the rope of his bag, hanging it on his shoulder.

“And no parties while I’m gone,” he called as he walked away toward the castle, where the expedition was to gather. “Or having chicks over for the night!”

Sam’s cheeks reddened as he nodded and waved, watching Dean go for a moment before closing the door.

Castiel smiled when he saw Dean approaching into the royal stable. Almost everyone was already there – Garth, Dean’s occasional training partner; Jimmy, a young man who suspiciously resembled the prince; Ash and Andy, two dubious yet cordial boys; Kevin, a genius kid almost as young as Sam who operated as an emergency medical technician; and a few others: Benny, Cole and Cain.

“Who are we waiting for?” Dean made way through stinking horses’ heads and men and approached the prince, speaking quietly.

“Balthazar and Aaron,” Castiel said. Dean sat beside him on the long bench and watched him whet his sword.

Castiel seemed peaceful. When he spoke, however, a moment later, his words were a harsh contradiction to his expression.

“What’s the point to wars, Dean?”

The other men were all gathered a short distance away, discussing something Dean didn’t catch up on. They didn’t seem to notice the two, but Dean still lowered his voice as his tone took a more personal note.

“I don’t know.”

“I’m afraid I’ll see him,” Castiel said eventually, his eyes fixated on his blade.

“I know,” said Dean softly. Castiel looked up at him.

“Do you think he’d kill me?” He asked, his eyes wandering from Dean’s lips to his eyes, his voice flat. “If he saw me?”

Dean took a moment to think, looking down at his intertwined fingers.

“I doubt it,” he finally said. “A demon would have to possess my body for me to try and hurt my little brother.”

“He’s crueler than you.”

“That, I’m not sure of.” Dean rested a hand on the prince's shoulder and squeezed, dropping it quickly and glancing at the other soldiers.

They mused.

“Hey, Cas?”

Castiel looked up.

“Is that…” Dean faltered. “Is that the reason you’ve avoided the war all this time? You were afraid to confront him?”

He put his sword down and fiddled with his ring, coming up with a lie. Then he turned to look at Dean with a strange intensity in his eyes.

“I’m afraid he’ll have an answer.”

“An answer-?”

“I’m afraid that if I ask him why must this war happen, how can he act so mercilessly against his own family, that he would have an answer.” His jaw clenched with a certain sort of pain.

“Because I don’t.”

At that moment the door opened and two men appeared at the entrance, apologizing for the delay. Dean and Castiel stood up simultaneously.

“Cas?” Dean asked again under his breath as the men approached their horses and freed them of their cells. “How come you’re going now, then?”

Castiel rested a hand on his horse’s neck as he opened the gate’s lock and led the horse out.

“I didn’t think I would,” he said quietly, his mind at the last time Dean had gone to war and he stayed back at home, a coward.

“I guess I have this idea in my head,” he explained slowly; the soldiers were leaving the room and getting onto their horses outside. Only the two of them, Dean and him, tarried at the back of the room.

“That I can somehow keep you safe if I’m there,” he finished. He urged his horse forward then, leaving Dean to take whatever there was to take out of his statement.


	7. The Fallen

The landscape was beautiful; Dean could see, by the way Castiel glanced to his sides as he led the succession, that he enjoyed the tall trees and the green mountains that surrounded them. He rode at the front, keeping close to Castiel and watching him from time to time.

They made two thirds of the way by nightfall. When the sun was no longer visible above the trees and the forest became a darker and more somber place, they sought a meadow and tied their horses to the trees around it.  While Dean and Garth set up the tents and the others fed the horses, Ash and Andy gathered logs, and Kevin lit a fire with his flint. When the rabbit meat and the red radish were cooked, the men gathered around the bonfire with sore legs and bottles of liquor. Dean handed out the food as the soldiers took off their boots and wiggled their finally-free toes, telling stories and laughing at jokes around the fire. There was no edge to their voices, no glint of concern in their eyes that suggested they feared the next day’s battle. Most of them have already been on the battlefield a time or a couple, and they weren’t particularly worried to go back. Castiel watched them admiringly.

He didn’t pay attention to the group’s easy chatter; instead, he was sunken in his own bubble of thoughts. He couldn’t repress the warmth that spread inside his chest as he looked at these men who feared the royal family and yet, considered him a friend. Listening to their laughter carry across the empty forest and finding Dean smiling warmly at him to his right, he couldn’t think of a better place to be. He poked his radish with his fork and bit into it, moving his knee away from Dean’s as he realized they were touching.

Dean looked at him, his expression growing tense. His fork piercing into the cooked root again, Castiel wondered absent-mindedly why Dean reacted so strangely to his routine precaution, when he realized it wasn’t his movement which Dean responded to. The conversation was quieter now, more serious. Dean looked away, focusing on his meal.

Castiel listened.

“Do we know his weak spots?” Asked Benny in response to something Aaron had said.

“Nope,” Balthazar replied coldly. “He kills anyone who gets close to him before they manage to assembled an attack.”

The blood drained from Castiel’s face. He felt Dean’s eyes on him and avoided his stare, forcing himself to take another bite of his rabbit.

“If so, we should try and attack him from behind, or as a unit,” added Cain, the eldest of the present warriors and the most astute one.

“My lord, do you know about any of his weaknesses?” The bunch turned to look at him. He looked up with a blank expression, his mouth dry.

“Well, it is my brother you’re talking about,” he said, his voice impassive. The men fell silent.

“Forgive me,” Cain tried after a moment of stillness. Castiel interrupted him, throwing his hand in the air dismissively. “It’s alright.”

He dropped his fork into his half-full bowl and handed it to Dean, standing up. “Excuse me,” he said before walking away. He picked the farthest one of the six tents and entered it, not bothering to change his clothes.

The forest was silent for a long while. When he could hear the muffled noise of human conversation again, he kicked his boots off and rolled onto his stomach. There was no pillow or blanket – only a thin sheet that separated his warm body from the damp ground; there was a limit to how much the horses could carry.

He didn’t listen to the voices. Here and there, he could hear Dean making a comment or joining a tactical discussion, and he blocked out the words. He thought about Charlie, lying in their shared bed he’d only had the chance to sleep in once. The hour was late; she was probably asleep.

How ridiculous it was, he thought, to put two humans who weren’t attracted to each other in the same bed and expect them to use their genitals.

Outside, someone burst into laughter.

He thought about Sam. He was more rational than Dean, more reserved. It seemed as though he would choose to use his brains rather than his muscles when he grew up – be a teacher, maybe, or a defender at the royal court. The thought comforted Castiel.

He thought of Meg, his only childhood friend, an illegitimate who had ran away eventually out of fear for her life. He heard she was discovered and burned at the stake in another kingdom.

He sighed and rolled onto his back, and stared at the fabric ceiling of the tent.

A while or two passed.

The forest slowly quietened, and there was a rustling of cloths at his feet.

Slowly and quietly, as if not wanting to wake him, someone sprawled onto the empty space beside him. He was bootless and very long, and let out a deep sigh once he was settled in. Castiel shifted.

“Oh,” the other man whispered. Dean. “I thought you were asleep.”

Castiel didn’t answer. Through the dark, his fingers groped their way onto Dean’s cheek.

“How are you feeling?” Dean murmured, moving closer to be able to speak more quietly, without worrying about being heard outside.

“Trying to distract myself,” Castiel whispered tonelessly. The tips of his fingers felt at Dean’s face, touched his light stubble. He could feel Dean talk; he let his eyelids drop. “What are you doing here?”

“I told the guys someone should…” He paused. “Do you want the short story or the long story?”

“Long, please,” Castiel whispered, hoping Dean’s voice would sooth his jittery nerves.

“I told them someone should sleep in your tent, just to make sure you’re alright,” Dean continued in response. Castiel’s fingers rested on his lips for a brief moment, as though taking a break from a long walk, before fluttering downwards.

“I said I heard rumors about the princess saying you kick in your sleep.” Dean smiled, at the touch of the fingers against his collarbone or maybe at his own words. Castiel’s lips curled into a scowl, although Dean couldn’t see him in the thick darkness.

“Oh, now you’re spreading rumors about me?” He grunted mutedly, his tone holding a humorous edge.

“Hey,” Dean protested. Something – a palm – nudged Castiel’s shoulder. “You _do_ kick in your sleep.”

“The last time we slept in the same bed was over two years ago,” Castiel complained, his voice even slighter than before – even the sharpest ear couldn’t hear him from a distance of more than a few inches away, now. Dean had to lean closer. His nose touched the base of Castiel’s neck, where the rough collar of his shirt rested.

“Have you changed, then?” He mumbled into Castiel’s chest. As if he found the spot more comfortable than expected, he rested his head above Castiel’s heart, listening for an answer and smiling triumphantly when there was none.

“Anyway, that put 'em off. Balthazar suggested I should do it since it was my idea and, quote marks, _we’re such best friends._ So, here I am.”

“Clever.” Castiel pondered aloud at Dean’s plan. He groped for Dean’s hand and held it between his own. Dean let out a yawn.

“Get some rest,” Castiel said gently, lacing their fingers together, and untwining them.

“Mmm,” Dean replied, shifting to stretch his free arm across Castiel’s torso. “You too.”

Castiel let his fingers drop, not wanting to disturb Dean’s sleep. A few moments later, however, he fell into deep thought and reached for Dean’s hair unconsciously, combing it with his fingers soothingly. He wasn’t tired. He allowed himself a few more moments of mercy, listening to Dean’s snoring and feeling his heartbeat in the general area of his crotch, before his eyelids began to drop and he let go. Then he pushed Dean aside and rolled farther away, turning his back to the sleeping body beside him.


	8. Sympathy For The Devil

In the morning, they packed their belongings and moved on. The road, which has been ups-and-downs until now, was finally flat – they were nearing the battlefield. Around noon, after crossing a small stream, they started hearing human voices other than theirs. They rode the road in an expectant line until eventually, they detected a big group of armored warriors – the garrison that was scheduled to go into the battlefield in the afternoon, once the prince’s garrison would arrive.

Castiel approached the group’s leader – an old, slender man, whose byname – Death – indicated his combating abilities.

“We’re ready, my lord,” he said. “But I assume your men would like a moment of readjustment from the trip?”

Castiel glanced at his soldiers, who were all already sitting down and making conversation with Death’s warriors.

“We would appreciate that,” Castiel nodded. He took another glance at his soldiers and then turned away toward the trees, ignoring Dean’s eyes on him. He only had to walk through the muddy forest for a few minutes before the noises of the battle reached his ears, and finally, he could see a vast field beyond the trees. He stayed within the woods, watching the figures move rapidly and clash their swords against one another. How many were there? A hundred? Two? He'd thought there would be more. He looked at the ground; it was red.

He walked back to Death’s temporary camp, defeated already. He didn’t let the weakness show on his face, however, when he reached the camp; he had to set an example for his men to be strong and courageous, even if he didn’t feel so himself.

Of course, he was qualified to kill. He _could_ kill, he _would,_ if…

He shook the thought away and approached the warriors, who were sitting together now.

“Are we ready to leave?” He asked the bunch, regretting his choice of words immediately, but the men all stood up, replacing their shoes and their armors. They left their horses in the camp with Kevin and began the march toward the field, taking a marked route, different than Castiel took before. It took twice the time it had taken him, but he felt as though it wasn’t longer than a moment before they were facing the open land.

Castiel looked back at his soldiers. “Is a battle cry the appropriate following step?”

A few of them nodded.

“Sure,” someone said.

“Well, that’s ridiculous. Use the fact that no one has noticed us yet.” And with those words they were sent into battle, sneaking behind their first enemies for as long as they could maintain the element of surprise, until the horde seemed to have swallowed them, and the only one Castiel could still recognize beyond the crowd was Dean.

“Lords, Cas,” he panted after watching Castiel take down three men with a few swift movements of his sword. They weren’t dead – he made sure to neutralize them one way or the other, leaving them unconscious or paralyzed from pain on the ground. “I thought you practiced, like, four times a year.”

Castiel’s shoulders rose, but his body was moving so rapidly that the shrug wasn’t significant in any way.

“I can be very determined, who knows better than you,” he said in concentration as he hit a man’s head with the helve of his sword. Dean stared at him with admiration, and Castiel had to block a few red-cloaked warriors who were running for him.

“Dean, if you’re going to stand here and gape at me like an aroused teenager instead of defending yourself, you’ll get us both killed.”

Dean lifted his sword and without looking back, he thrust it backwards, impaling the neck behind him and smiling as he pulled his sword out of the man and the body fell onto the ground. His smile faded as soon as he met Castiel’s eyes, however.

“You’re supposed to aim for the head,” he tried to joke, but the terror in Castiel’s eyes didn’t soften. Dean’s jaw tensed. He reached for Castiel’s shoulder, but the man stepped back.

“Maybe it’s better if we part,” Dean mumbled, his voice barely audible above the noise of steel and pain, and he slashed the arm of a man whose sword was reaching for Castiel’s back.

“Mind your armor,” he added before he turned away and thrust his way through red-cloaked men. “It bends and breaks fairly easily, if one is determined enough.”

Castiel breathed and wiped the picture of the skewered man out of his brain.

He was doing the best he could to keep his victims alive, but this was war, and apparently, no one else felt like playing nice. Eventually, surrounded by Lucifer’s forces in the heart of the field, he had no choice but to kill.

It must have been glorious for a bystander to watch as Castiel swirled apace within countless bodies, taking three or four down at a time. His sword clashed against one blade after another, the bodies piling up around him, until one sword resisted his blow. He moved on, blocking an attack and accidentally slashing a dark cloak in two, before the recalcitrant blade hit his again. He looked up.

And stumbled backwards.

In front of him, fair haired and shorter than he remembered, stood his brother.

“Cassie.” His smile didn't reach his eyes, above which was smeared blood that wasn't his. 

“Luci,” Castiel swallowed. For a moment, they looked at each other, and the world seemed to halt in place; and then Lucifer’s eyes fixated on a spot behind Castiel and he shook his head slightly. Castiel glanced backwards, but the soldier who has come for him was already gone.

“You promised me you wouldn’t take part in this war.”

“Which one?” Castiel asked acidly. “Because I think the one you were talking about ended, what, four years ago? There’s been a few more since.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed. Castiel raised a shoulder.

“I kept my word long enough,” he said, watching a black-caped man sneaking behind his brother. He blocked the blow instinctively, and Lucifer’s eyebrows furrowed.

"What was the last straw, then?" 

Castiel glanced into a distant spot, where a certain warrior slit another man's throat.

"Love," he said emptily. He looked back at his brother. "So, are you going to fight me, or what?"

“You promised me I wouldn’t have to do this, brother, not to you.”

“Then let’s stop this,” Castiel said stiffly, blocking another black blow. “Let’s just stop killing each other.”

“You know I can’t.”

Castiel nodded bitterly. “Then go ahead. I’ll make it easy for you,” he spat out, and threw his sword onto the ground. Lucifer’s lips twisted into a bitter grimace.

“Pick up your weapon, Cassie, and get as far away from me as you can.”

Castiel simply shrugged, empty handed. “Oh, come on,” his arms lifted and dropped back to his sides. “You’ve collected three brothers already, why not go on and get the whole set?”

“I didn’t touch any of them!” Lucifer’s blade – moving too fast for Castiel to follow – was suddenly against his throat, slashing his skin and coaxing a few red drops out and down his neck.

“Gabe was the only one I touched,” he hissed, his icy blue eyes inches away from Castiel’s. “And I regret it, Castiel. You have no idea how much I do.” He glared into Castiel’s eyes for a long moment before pulling his sword back and walking away.

Castiel took in a shallow breath, his heart pounding frantically inside his chest. The hectic pace of the battle didn’t allow him to zone out for long, though, before he had to duck under fleeting blades and grab his sword from the ground. He looked around.

It took him more than a few minutes to locate Dean. Their eyes locked for a fraction of a second, and Castiel pointed at himself and then at Dean. The other man nodded and looked away, and Castiel moved.

He made way across the field, leaving a trail of bodies behind him, but halfway through his path to Dean he lost sight of him. He halted in place, disoriented, his eyes searching around. Moments later, he found the tips of his hair peeking above a red-cloak, before the soldier backed away and Castiel could see Dean again... With a sword threaded beneath his abdomen shield and impaling his stomach. His sword slipped out of his hand.

The red-cloaked man pulled his sword out of Dean’s stomach and disappeared, and Dean fell to the ground.

Castiel ran.

He was at Dean’s side in a matter of seconds, fixing his head so that his neck was at a more natural angle. Dean looked at him, seeming disoriented.

“What’s happening?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowing. Castiel stared at him for a moment, before recalling one of his first _theoretical fighting_ lessons: victims of stabbing often don’t understand what happened to them; they just feel pain.

“Someone got you,” Castiel said stiffly and gestured with his head, disassembling Dean’s armor.

Dean’s eyes trailed Castiel’s motions until he could see the lower part of his stomach, where a large wound bled under his slashed clothes.

“...Oh.”

Castiel grabbed his own cloak and yanked at its ends forcefully, tearing a piece of it and making a ball of the cloth.

“Is this what it feels to be on your period?” Dean asked faintly. Castiel pressed the cloth onto the wound hard, and Dean’s lips distorted with pain.

“Probably.” He looked up, scouting for an upcoming attack on the two, before looking back at Dean.

“You’re going to be fine, just…” He adjusted the cloth on Dean’s stomach and pressed it harder, but it was already soaked in blood. He ripped another piece of his cloak, examining the wound before pressing the cloth onto it.

“Dean, this is…” He swallowed, looking up – this time, to search for help among his men, but there were no familiar faces around him. “This is more serious than I thought.”

He looked around, calling for help, but there was none.

 _Of course no one would help,_ he thought angrily. This was war; watering down the population was the desired outcome.

When he looked down again, Dean's eyes were closed. Castiel smacked his cheek with one hand, the other still pressing the already-soaked ball of fabric onto his stomach.

“You have to stay conscious, now,” Castiel warned him, but Dean’s lips parted into a dull grin.

“Cas, I think I see an angel,” he mumbled. “Oh, wait, it’s you.”

“Are you seriously joking right now?” Castiel scowled. As he tore his cloak again, something sharp sliced his arm, but Dean’s closing eyes diverted his attention.

“Dean.” He shook his shoulder gently. “Stay with me, alright? Keep your eyes open.” His fingers were covered in blood, and they stained Dean’s face where he touched it.

"Cas-" A sharp cough cut his voice off. “If I don’t make it, tell Sam… I’m proud of us.”

“Dean, this isn’t a joke,” Castiel grunted.

“I’m not joking.” With effort, Dean moved his hand and grabbed Castiel’s, and they looked at each other for a long moment. Dean smiled softly at his pained expression, until a nearby call for the prince caught his attention.

“My lord!” Cain crouched beside him. “What are you doing? We need to get you out of here as fast as we can.” Castiel frowned, watching as the man rolled a dead body over and ripped a piece of its sleeve before he wrapped it around the prince’s arm, which – he’s only now noticed – was bleeding.

Cain tied the cloth tightly above the wound, and Castiel lost vision of him as the man stood up.

When he looked back at Dean, his eyes were closed.

“Dean,” he mouthed. He touched Dean’s face, shook his arm. “Wake up, baby.” But the words were just a silent murmur. Nevertheless, Dean’s eyes fluttered open for a split second, his bottom lip twitching, before his body stilled.

“Dean!” Castiel called, loud and clear now. He rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes furiously, clearing his vision from the liquid that collected in his eyes. “You’ve got to wake up, for Sam…”

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and someone spoke behind him. “You’re hurt, my lord. We have to get you out of here.”

“For me…” He mumbled as the man behind him tugged at his arm. He shrugged the hand off.

“Castiel…” Cain’s voice said, and Castiel felt fingers on his arm again – two sets this time, and another one on his injured shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t understand the remorse in Cain’s voice until the three hands started pulling him away. He tried to shake himself free, but another hand wrapped across his stomach until he was forcibly standing up.

“No,” he let out, his voice breaking. “Dean…” He let his legs lose stability beneath him, hoping that without the support of his feet, the men wouldn’t be able to carry his weight – but he was still being taken away from Dean, and at an impressive velocity.

“Dean! Dean!” He was shouting now, kicking and swaying in an attempt to break free of the men’s grasp, but his efforts were to no avail.

“Dean! Put me down!” He screamed. His wandering fist hit something – he didn’t glance back to see what – but he was helpless. He watched Dean’s body lying on the ground, his stomach still bleeding, as he was taken away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my bad writing is truly... one of a kind... forgive me i'm trying my best


	9. Of One Man's Importance

The horses were jaded from the long ride.

“Gods, he really knows how to wear out a horse.” Kevin glanced at the black horse Garth was feeding and nodded. The animal seems as though it was about to collapse at any moment.

He looked at the fire, where a single man sat on a long log. Garth followed his stare.

“Why do you think he wants to get back so fast?”

“I don’t think it’s that,” Kevin muttered, still looking at the prince. “I think he’s trying to keep himself occupied, so he doesn’t have to remember.”

“Oh, he remembers, alright,” Garth muttered. By the fire, Castiel stared into the flames motionlessly. “I’mma go check how he’s doing.”

“I’ll go,” Kevin said. He grabbed a long strip of cloth from his tent and sat down beside the prince.

“Your bandage needs changing,” he mentioned. “It’s been soaking blood for a few good hours. You know, if you would slow down the pace of your riding it would really make it easier on your arm. It must kill you in the nights…”

“I already replaced it,” Castiel cut him off.

“Let me see if it’s tight enough, then,” Kevin insisted. The prince changed his position slightly for the boy to be able to check on his arm. Kevin rolled Castiel’s sleeve up and checked the fresh bandage, adjusting it so that it wouldn’t interrupt the elbow from folding.

“So, uh, how are you doing?”

“It’s just a scratch,” Castiel muttered, rolling his sleeve down once Kevin was finished adjusting his bandage.

“I wasn’t talking about…” But Castiel leaned in, checking on the cooking deer meat, and the young boy’s voice faded. At that moment, Garth appeared with a water canteen.

“Am I interrupting?” He asked hesitantly, watching Kevin’s half-opened mouth.

“No,” Castiel said decisively and handed him a bowl full of meat. He sat down beside Kevin as the other men started to gather around the fire.

“I’ll go put this back,” Kevin murmured and stood up with his unused bandage.

The meal was quiet.

“Who did that to you?” Castiel asked after a few long minutes of silence, staring at Garth's face. Garth touched the side of his face subconsciously, where a dark bruise framed his eye.

The dull conversation faded, and the men looked at the two hesitantly. Garth’s eyes dropped to the floor; he was about to open his mouth, when Castiel inhaled with realization.

“…Oh,” he let out, recalling the two men who pulled him away from the battlefield. “It was me. Forgive me…”

“’S nothing,” Garth insisted. Castiel looked down at his untouched meal, missing the looks Garth exchanged with Cain and Kevin. Kevin nodded once, and Cain came to kneel before the prince.

“There’s something you should know, my lord,” he said, and Castiel looked at him. “Yesterday, on the battlefield, some of us saw something… we weren’t expecting to see.” Castiel ducked his head, having a faint idea where the speech was going.

“We discussed it, and I thought we should tell you.” Cain shifted his weight on the ground. “We know, about you and Dean. And we want you to know… We’ve got your back. We won’t tell anyone.”

Castiel stared at him without really seeing his face.

The soldiers stared at him, waiting for his reaction.

“That’s very kind of you,” he forced out eventually. “Thank you.” He turned to his right, handing his bowl to Dean, but no one was there.

“Will you excuse me,” he let out blankly and put his bowl on the ground, standing up.

He was unable to sleep. Kevin was right – the wound in his arm left him sleepless the night before, but he embraced the physical pain, as it distracted him from the real ache.

Dean was dead, and he wasn’t coming back.

And he was supposed to move on into his marriage life as if nothing ever happened.

He tried not to think about Sam.

 

* * *

 

Castiel stood in front of a familiar wooden door. Behind him, the soldiers from whom he’d just separated – minus one – were headed to the castle.

He knocked three times.

The door swung open. “Cas,” the boy behind it smiled, holding the doorknob.

“Hello, Sam.”

“You’re back early,” Sam noted. “Where’s Dean?”

Castiel opened his mouth, but the words got caught in his throat. He looked into Sam’s bright, hoping eyes for a long moment, the emotion in his own expression sealed behind closed lips.

As if time slowed, Sam’s face wilted slowly – his lips parted, his eyebrows dropped and his eyes searched Castiel’s face until they were drained from emotion.

“He’s dead, isn’t he,” he said as if he were stating a fact.

What was Castiel supposed to say?

“I’m sorry,” he tried. “There was too much blood, I… I couldn’t…” He took a breath in order for his eyes to stay dry.

“Where is he?” Sam’s arms dropped to his sides. “I want to see him.”

Castiel’s eyes dropped to the ground.

“We… We didn’t bring him back.” He turned his ring around on his finger, as though it would whisper him the right words to say if he only twisted it in the right angle.

“They took me away from him. There was nothing I could-“ Sam disappeared and the door shut, an inch away from Castiel’s nose.

He stared at the texture of the wood.

There was a dent at the top of the door from Dean’s first day in the house – Dean and Castiel were sitting on the roof of a store, and Dean accidentally dropped a bucket of water on a guy twice their size. The guy chased them back to Dean’s house and threw a knife at Castiel’s head right when he shut the door – and the knife lodged into it.

It was the first time Castiel was put in a real danger, and one of his favorite memories.

Without a warning, the door opened and Sam stepped aside.

“Come in.”

 ~

“I was headed toward him,” Castiel explained by the dining table.

The scent of the house had him taken aback. He’d always taken it for granted; now, feeling as though Dean would appear beside him every time he inhaled, he realized he’s been connecting the scent to the feeling of confidence and safety.

 _How ironic,_ he thought dryly.  

“I looked away for one moment. When I looked back at him, he was lying on the ground with a hole in his-“ He glanced up at Sam’s face, and decided he could spare the boy some details.

"He wanted me to tell you something.”

Sam looked up. “My silence is your cue,” he said after a moment of silence.

“He wanted you to know he’s proud of the both of you.”

Sam looked away, smiling bitterly. His eyes glinted with tears. It took him a moment to be able to talk.

“Was he alone, when…”

“No,” Castiel assured him.

“Did he know that?” Sam asked. The man stared at him for a moment, bemused by the precision of the boy’s questions – it was as if he’d given endless thought to this exact chain of events in his spare time.

Maybe he had.

Castiel looked down, forcing quiet words out of his mouth. “Gods, I hope he did.”

 ~

Castiel has never noticed before how quiet the royal court was.

When he arrived at the stables, he found the place empty except for a single figure leaning against the gate of his horse’s cell.

“Everyone already went to their homes.”

He ignored the words and approached the gate, waiting for his path to be cleared. Behind him, his horse sighed into his hair.

“They told me about Dean,” Charlie said as she moved aside.

“Good; then we have nothing to discuss.” The horse entered its cell and Castiel locked the gate.

“Don’t push me away,” Charlie begged, taking his hand.

“Then what am I supposed to do?!” He snapped, pulling his hand out of the princess’. His wound stung with the sharp motion.

They stood face to face, and the silence lengthened. 

“…He was my best friend.”

Charlie looked away; the pain in her husband’s eyes was more than she could handle.

“At fifteen,” Castiel said quietly, “we ran barefoot to his house while a guy named Alastair chased us with a knife. At seventeen I stayed up all night trying to convince him not to go to war.”

“Cas, I get it, but-“

“When we were eighteen,” he went on, “we had a huge fight. He told me he would have been better off dying in the war because that meant he wouldn’t have to see my face again. I laughed so hard that he forgot he was mad at me. At nineteen – I don’t even remember what we were talking about – he told me he would go through a year of tortures in the dungeons to see my face again. Last year we had a fight, and he sneaked into the castle at night and waited outside my room for six hours until I agreed to talk to him. A few days ago…” Castiel wiped his eyes angrily with the back of his hand. His voice trembled. “I went to war for him, although I had promised my brother I would never come near a battlefield, a promise I kept for almost a decade. Do you get it now? The worst days I’ve had, I had with him, but whatever we went through - we did it together. So tell me- ” his voice was harsh now “-what is half a person good for, when the other half is missing?”

Charlie stammered.

“That’s what I thought,” Castiel whispered, his voice breaking. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I would like to be alone so I can think about what the hell I am about to do with the utterly devastated sixteen years old boy I am now responsible of."


	10. The Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- finally proofread  
> \- also note that Sam was around 16\17 at this point

_FALL_

The sunrays fell on the floor and the furniture exactly the way Castiel has remembered.

He’s been having trouble getting used to his new room. The window was on the opposite wall to this room’s and the sun got in his eyes in the mornings. The bed was softer and larger, and Charlie kicked in her sleep.

She would have certainly felt him kick back, if he would have managed to fall unconscious himself. But the nights were sleepless.

He walked to the center of the room and sat on his old bed.

It’s been a hundred days since the last time he was here. The sheets still had his scent, and some of his old clothes were still in the closet.

His suspicions were verified – the air was heavy with Dean’s memory. There he was, by the door, begging for Castiel to let him in after a sleepless night; by the bed, dying the sleeping prince’s face with blueberry paint while Gabriel was suppressing a laugh behind him.

Castiel lay on his back in the center of the bed, brought his knees to his chest, and closed his eyes. He breathed in the dense air, telling himself if he only shut his eyes tight enough Dean would appear at the door.

He felt a gust of wind ruffle his hair and his eyes flew open, looking around frantically.

No one was there.

He sighed and spread his legs on the bed. He touched the sheets, tracked patterns with the tips of his fingers, searched for another hand.

At last, he looked to his right, and another memory bubbled up in his mind: Dean and him sitting on that bed, years and years ago. The door was locked and they were whispering, dreading the slightest sound that foreboded a knock on the door…

_“Hold the top, here. No, the-“_

_“It’s the base,” Dean cut him off._

_“No,” Castiel insisted. “It’s the- ugh, never mind. Hold it tight.”_

_“I am!”_

_“No, tighter. Alright. Now, you twist it… No, gently… It’ll break if you twist it too sharply.”_

_“I give up,” Dean declared with a huff. “It’s too complicated.”_

_“No! You’re doing well. Just put it in- yes, like that.”_

_“It’s falling apart,” Dean complained, frowning at the thread of flowers he was holding._

_“No, it’s not. Here,” Castiel tied the end of one stem to another and the thread became a large ring._

_“Whatever,” Dean blurted. “This shit is for girls.”_

_Castiel smiled at him. “Never underestimate girls.”_

_“Okay, then, what is it good for?” Dean countered with a doubtful lifted eyebrow. Castiel took a moment to answer._

_“Well, this particular art is… Pretty much useless. But it looks pretty!” He smiled brightly and put the flower thread on top of Dean’s head._

_“You’re a dork.” Dean rolled his eyes and leaned in to kiss the other boy’s cheek._

Castiel examined the afternoon sunrays that danced on the wall, affected by every sway of the curtains by the window across the room.

_“Do you want to try another one?” Young Castiel asked with a smile and a reddish hue to his face. Dean’s mouth opened and closed in the same breath, as he heard footsteps outside._

_“Are they…?” He began hesitantly, his eyes meeting Castiel’s._ _Any doubt he had was cleared a moment later, when a knock on the door was heard._

_“Quick, hide,” Castiel hissed. Dean jumped onto his legs and scanned the room hesitantly._

_“Where?” He asked anxiously, opening the closet doors and having a pile of squashed clothes fall onto the floor to his feet._

_“Unbelievable,” he muttered and turned around._

Castiel sat up on the bed and felt the last beams of the setting sun warm his face. The room was slowly cooling.

_“Cassie, you in there?” Gabriel’s voice questioned from behind the door._

_“Just a second,” Castiel replied and added quietly to Dean, “under the bed.”_

_He stood up and unbuttoned the upper part of his shirt as Dean rolled under the bed._

_“What’s going on?” He asked as he opened the door._

_“What took you so long?” Gabriel demanded._

_“I was, uh, changing.” He glanced at the pile of clothes at the corner of the room. Gabriel followed his stare and examined his half-buttoned shirt._

_“Dad sent me to call you for dinner,” he said, his eyes still skimming across the room. “Also, have you seen Dean? I searched for him all day.”_

_Castiel tensed up._

_“…Who?”_

_“My trainee. Y’know – tall, freckled, chick magnet?”_

_“Um,” Castiel gulped. “No.”_

_“Weren’t you hanging out yesterday?”_

_“Oh,” Castiel huffed as if he was just hit with realization. “That guy. Um, I think he’s sick. He coughed right on me yesterday, so I might be catching-“_

_“Got it,” Gabriel took a step back. Castiel suppressed a sly smile._

_“You can come out now,” he said once his brother was gone._

_“_ _Dean?” He asked when he was met with silence._ _He crouched and glanced under the bed._

_Dean was holding the tip of his knife against the wooden foundation of the bed, biting his lower lip with concentration._

_“What in the gales are you doing?” He asked._

_“C’mere,” Dean smirked, lowering his knife as Castiel squeezed in beside him. They looked up to see three characters engraved into the dark timber._

_D+C._

_The C was halfway finished._

_Castiel’s chest filled with warmth, but he ignored it. “Dean!” He frowned._

_“What? I was bored.”_

_“Someone might find it.”_

_“They wouldn’t, if you started cleaning your own room like a normal person. I’m sure that pile of clothes over there would thank you.”_

_“Ugh. Give me this.” He grabbed the knife from Dean’s hand and pressed it against the writing, preparing to wipe it out. Dean watched him cautiously, his eyes tense._

_He gritted his teeth and let his hand fall to his side._

_“I have to go,” he said blankly. Dean’s expression relaxed and he rolled out of his hiding spot and stood up._

_“You comin’?” He asked._

_“Yes,” Castiel replied faintly, but didn’t move. He pressed the knife against the wood again, and completed Dean’s half-written C. Then he slid from under the bed and handed Dean the knife._

He stood up now, lying back down on the floor and squeezing under the bed. He could barely fit in there anymore, but with a certain effort he managed to lie back exactly where he had all those years ago.

He touched the old engraving with the tips of his fingers.

Then he stood up and went to get a knife. When he was lying in front of Dean’s writing again, he scraped it with his knife until the letters were entirely indistinct.

 

* * *

 

_WINTER_

“I brought you some food.”

Sam took the plate covered with cloth that was handed to him and moved aside to let Castiel in.

“In case you, uh, forgot to make dinner again,” Castiel added and ran a hand through his wet hair. His clothes were damp from the midnight drizzle outside.

Sam sat by the dining table and peeked at the plate; it had lettuce salad, baked potatoes, grilled eggplants and seasoned meat. “Did you just give me your plate?”

“…No.”

“Look, yesterday was a one-time thing,” Sam muttered. “I was just busy with schoolwork.”

“Yes?” Castiel reached the cabinets above the sink and opened them, finding an almost-empty bag of rice and flakes of dust. “What did you make dinner of today?”

Sam glared at him.

The money Dean had saved for years for Sam to be able to move out eventually was running out, and they both knew it. Sam wasn't willing to admit he needed help, however, and Castiel had no idea how to handle a surly teen. Amongst his brothers,  _he_ was always the surly teen. 

“Sorry it’s cold,” he mumbled and sat down beside Sam.

“It’s great, Cas. Thanks.”

The prince cleared his throat.

“Charlie asked me to give you this,” he said, handing Sam a cream-colored silk pouch. “She said to tell you to say you found them thrown away in an alley.”

Sam opened the pouch and a tangle of jewelry fell out of it.

“Cas, I can’t…” Sam’s voice faded as his fingers touched a golden bracelet embedded with rubies.

“She was going to throw them out anyway,” Castiel urged, smiling lightly with the boy’s amazement at the precious gems. “I’ve never seen her wear them. She said pearls make her look heterosexual, although I don’t know what she’s talking about. She could kiss a guy with ten pearl necklaces on her neck and still look gay to me.”

Sam stared at him with a half-opened mouth.

“You could at least pretend to laugh at my jokes.”

Nothing.

“So, uh. They’re all real. You could buy at least five potatoes with them.”

“Are you kidding? I could buy another house with these,” Sam called, and for the first time in the past month, Castiel saw a genuine smile decorate his bright expression.

“Too bad princes don’t wear pearls, or you’d be buying a house a long time ago.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel ruffled his hair, and there was the bright smile again.

“Do you need help with your homework?” He asked, glancing around to check whether the room needed cleaning. He knew he could never fill Dean’s place, but ever since he died Castiel tried his best to make it easier for Sam, who found himself living alone with a house to keep and food to buy with money he didn’t have.

Sam shook his head.

“I’ll get going, then. Tell Kevin to come by if you need anything.” Sam nodded. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” He reached for the door, but Sam’s voice stopped him from touching the handle.

“Wait.”

Castiel turned around.

“I do need something.” He hesitated. “I’ve been having trouble falling asleep.” He looked down, playing with the hem of the plate’s cloth. “Could you, maybe, stay for a few minutes? I think I’ll sleep better if I’m not alone.”

“Sure,” Castiel smiled, an emotion that could be mistaken as pride bubbling up inside him as Dean’s brother asked him for help for the first time in months.

 

The rain thumped on the wooden roof, and Castiel understood why Sam couldn’t sleep. The sound was forceful and eerie.

He was sitting on the floor, the bed standing right beside him with Sam’s slim body sprawled across it. He rolled from one side to another, restless. Then his body finally relaxed. His eyes fluttered open.

“Still here,” Castiel whispered into the dark. Sam turned over, but after a few moments he turned back to Castiel.

“Here,” the prince offered, handing Sam an end of his cloak. “That way you’ll know if I leave.”

Sam’s fingers latched onto the cloth and his eyelids dropped.

A few long minutes passed, the rain becoming a dribble again, and Sam’s breaths stabilized. Castiel moved, tugging cautiously at his cloak to release it from Sam’s fingers, but the boy opened his eyes with an awareness that surprised Castiel.

“You can go,” he assured, but the prince didn’t move.

He sank in thoughts. The nights were becoming more and more peaceful, or so he’d thought at first. His shoulder ceased to bother him and he has managed to fall asleep at a reasonable time in the past few weeks. After a few nights, however, it appeared that falling asleep wasn’t what he should’ve set his mind to worry about. It was waking up in the middle of the night, breathless, with the image of Dean crouching above him with a knife dripping with blood in his hand.

He glanced at Sam, who finally seemed to be sleeping peacefully by his side, but as he tried to move again the boy trembled and clutched the hem of the cloak tighter.

Castiel sighed and leaned back against the wall again.

The dreams were unsettling, to say the least. They were a hundred different versions that all came down to one premise: Dean, above him, cutting his skin, slitting his throat. The worst were his words – he didn’t yell at Castiel; his voice didn’t break. It was calm, and purely hateful.

On better nights, he accused Castiel of killing him. On worse, he smiled, covered with the prince’s blood, and whispered words of love.

And then there were his eyes. Completely dark, pitch black eyes.

The constant sound of the rain was relaxing, and without noticing, Castiel fell asleep.  

 

* * *

 

_SPRING_

“Thanks for coming,” Sam said with half a smile.

Castiel nodded and entered the house.

“I couldn’t see all his things just lying there anymore.”

“I understand,” Castiel reassured him. Sam smiled with relief.

It was good to see the boy smile so frequently after the long, rueful winter months. He has grown taller, too, topping Castiel’s height by a few inches. And he’s been chatting more, especially about his friend Jess, whose memory always brought a bright smile to his face. Castiel secretly hoped there was more than just friendship to it.

"So," Sam cleared his throat, and Castiel realized he was staring. "Let's get to work, yeah?"

Dean’s possessions were restricted to a few shelves in his and Sam's closet.

“This shouldn’t be too hard,” Castiel estimated as they opened the closet doors.

He started taking out Dean’s clothes, smelling some of them discreetly before putting them neatly in the crates Sam got from Jo, the flirty pie seller.

“So, uh, how are things with you and Jess?” He asked as Sam grabbed a bundle of socks and shoved them into a crate.

“Pretty cool,” Sam replied and looked away, suppressing an abashed smile. “She moved to the seat beside mine in history class today.”

 “You know, history class used to be my favorite,” Castiel smirked.

“Really?”

“Yes. My brother, Gabriel, always had his free periods during my history lessons, and it wasn’t very hard to convince me to tag along with him as he carried out his pranks. It turned out I’ve never attended a history lesson. That’s why it was my favorite, of course.”

“It’s not really like you, skipping classes in favor of sneaking around the castle,” Sam pointed out, amused.

“Well, back when my brothers were still alive,” Castiel folded a white shirt and placed it above Dean’s leather jacket, “I used to be quite the rebel.”

He grabbed another shirt from the shelf, finding a small wooden box behind it.

He glanced at Sam before pulling the box out, opening it and looking inside.

“Oh, no,” he mumbled. Inside the box were a few insignificant, trivial objects, which Castiel recognized immediately.

On top were a couple of old, wilted flower crowns. Beneath them was a dagger he had given Dean for one of his birthdays, and at the bottom of the box was a piece of paper Castiel had stolen from the library a few years ago with which he’d taught Dean to read.

“What is it?” Sam asked, leaning over Castiel’s shoulder.

“Nothing,” he replied with effort, closing the box with a thump. “Say, uh, can I keep this thing?”

“Of course,” said Sam with slightly furrowed eyebrows, before he turned around and kept packing Dean’s things into the crates, glancing over his shoulder.

Castiel gulped, taking a moment to process the fact that Dean had saved everything he’s ever gotten from Castiel that wasn’t edible.

“Hey, you alright?” Sam asked, his tone seemingly casual.

Ignoring the question, he stood up and resumed his work.

He didn’t want to admit that he was.

 

* * *

 

_SUMMER_

As the days lengthened and heated, Castiel’s nights became more bearable, and Dean’s memory became easier to carry. Sam finished his ninth schoolyear, meaning he only had another year before graduating and officially beginning his adult life.

It’s been three hundred and sixty seven days since Castiel’s wedding day, and he was celebrating the occasion in his old room, sitting on his bed with a bottle of liquor and Dean’s box that had an unnoticeable _Stuff From Cas_ carved into its front.

He ran a finger across the dagger’s blade and took a long sip of his liquor.

Sam was doing fine. More than fine, in fact – he got a girlfriend and a job at Jo and Ellen’s over the summer, and his grades were the highest in his school. Once he finished school he could find a job anywhere he wanted, with his wit and diligence.

Castiel’s life, on the other hand, was going a different direction.

He was over Dean’s death, obviously. A year, he decided, was way too long to mourn over something that was doomed to fail before it started.

The anniversary of Dean’s death was just a dull excuse, no more, for him to drown in the sorrow of the responsibility his ailing aunt was about to drop on his shoulders.

He knew, however, from ample experience, that the loss only became harder to bear with every year passing.

He took another sip of his drink.

He wasn't sad anymore. He was angry. Angry with his brothers, who went away one by one like lambs to the slaughter. Angry with his father and his aunt, who left him alone with a responsibility he had no idea how to carry. Angry with Dean – he didn’t even know for what. For being dead.

For making him fall in love like some kind of an idiot.

He grabbed the folded page that rested at the bottom of Dean’s box and crumpled it, throwing it to the floor.

In fact, he thought fiercely, why not–

Someone coughed behind him, cutting his train of thoughts.

“I heard this is where you can find this guy,” a voice said. “Kinda tall, messy hair, looks like an angel but always has this expression like he’s trying to recall whether he left something burning in the oven?”

Castiel glanced at his bottle, his forehead creasing. The bottle was only one fourth empty – he wasn’t getting near being as drunk as hearing Dean’s voice.

In fact, he was pretty lucid. And the voice was rough, different than all the other times – it was almost as if Dean was standing right…

There.

Slowly, he turned around.

A tall man was leaning on the doorframe. Every visible inch of his body was cut or bruised, but his split lips formed a smile brighter than the color of his eyes.

“Miss me?”

Having no control over his limbs, Castiel was on his feet and in front of Dean in a matter of seconds. With trembling fingers, he touched Dean’s face. It was warm and damp from blood and sweat.

Comprehending that Dean was real and alive in front of him, he stumbled backwards with horror and fell to his feet.

“You don’t look so happy to see me,” Dean mumbled, his tone light, but his eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“Cas? You alright?”

Castiel stared at him, his fingers quivering violently to his sides.

“You’re too old to be a part of my nightmares,” he whispered. He didn’t understand.

“Wow. Thanks,” Dean said dryly. He knelt in front of the prince, taking Castiel’s hands with his own.

Castiel closed his eyes. Slowly, he leaned his head against Dean’s shoulder, and Dean held him as he tried to find his voice.

"So," Dean said eventually. "You're probably wondering what the hell is going on." 


	11. Epilogue

“So,” Dean said. “You’re probably wondering what the hell is going on.”

* * *

 “Where do I even start?” Dean sighed, wiping dry blood off his temple distractedly.

“Do you remember everything?” Castiel offered. He took Dean’s hand in his, examining the beaten-up palm. They were sitting at the center of Castiel's old bed, legs crossed, each man’s knees touching the other’s. Dean’s fingers felt like a sheaf of wilted flowers, fragile and frail.

“Think so. Um, let’s see.” Dean rested his free hand against the side of his face. “Well, I remember that guy’s sword being thrust into me pretty well. And then I remember falling down; then you showed up, but after a while you were gone – what happened there, actually?”

“Does it really matter at the moment?” Castiel asked tiredly.

“No, right,” Dean said, clearing his throat. “Sorry.” He ran a hand between his shoulder and his neck, where a particularly dark wound was beginning to fade.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Castiel reminded him gently.

“No, I know, but I’m not gonna tell Sam, and I need someone to… To know.”

“Alright, then, I’m listening,” Castiel squeezed his hand. Dean pursed his lips and searched within his mind for that bewildering day a year ago.

He was lying on the ground, slipping in and out of consciousness alternately as he was slowly dying. He couldn’t tell how much time passed before the sky began to darken. The sounds of fighting were garish, and then they weren’t at all. 

Finally, at dusk, someone crouched over him and turned away - and then turned back and knelt beside him.

“I think we’ve got one,” the guy shouted, pressing two fingers to the base of his throat. Dean swayed uncomfortably at the disturbance.

Another man showed up and Dean was carried back to camp; only when he was put down beside a pond and a red-cloaked man stared at him while chewing on an orange vegetable, he realized he wasn’t in his own camp.

He swayed anxiously, struggling to look around. He wasn’t lucid enough to form an escape plan – but the more he saw, the less he was anxious to get one. There were many men around him, walking from one side of the large meadow to another with bandages and jugs of water, but none of them paid him particular or hostile attention.

A minute later, a white-cloaked man knelt beside him.

“How are we feeling?” He asked with an upbeat smile. Dean stared at him.

“I don’t think this one’s a keeper, Ephraim,” said the man beside them, taking another bite of his carrot.

The second man, Ephraim, smiled and pressed his palm against Dean’s forehead.

“Good as new,” he mumbled, and went on his way. Dean stared after him, terrified, groping the newfound thin scar on his stomach.

He was healed.

He didn’t understand, at first, why he was saved by the enemy’s forces. They took his Edlundan clothes and handed him simpler pants and a light shirt that left him cold in the nights. From the moment he was healed he was guarded constantly. The men in the camp ignored him altogether. That was, until a few days later the white-cloaked doctor returned to inspect him. With his authorization, Dean was loaded on a cart with another few men he hasn’t seen before and sent to a cave in the middle of the forest.

At that point of the story Dean paused and looked at Castiel hesitantly.

Castiel returned him a look. “What?”

“They put us in this cave for – how long has it been?”

“Today has been year since you died,” Castiel answered, frowning. “Or, uh, didn’t die.”

“So that makes it almost ten months.” Dean nodded, looking down at Castiel’s hands. “They left us with a few of their soldiers and, uh,” he scratched the back of his head. “This is where I got all these scars.”

Castiel looked him over, aghast with the new meaning of the bruises that flourished on Dean’s body.

“Dean… These aren’t scars,” he murmured cautiously. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go down that line of conversation. Unknowingly disregarding Castiel’s thoughts, Dean tugged his shirt up and revealed a slice of his chest. It was covered with long, faded pink strips.

Castiel’s forehead creased with terror. He reached out a hand and tucked Dean’s shirt back down, as if it could relieve his pain.

“Oh, Lords. Why did they do that to you?”

Dean shrugged.

“Information, mostly. But sometimes, I think, just out of boredom." His eyes brightened for just a moment and he smacked Castiel’s arm. “You know how I like it when guys make me scream.”

Castiel winced.

“Too soon?” Dean smiled hesitantly. Castiel drew his hands away and covered his face. His voice came out muffled through his palms.

“You’re dying, and you make jokes about it. You’re being tortured for months, you come back, and you joke about it.” He huffed into his palms. “You’re a special sort of idiot.”

He couldn’t see Dean’s expression behind his fingers, but he could feel another set of fingers coming to rest on his.

“I’m here now, and that’s what matters.”

Castiel sighed and dropped his hands. He pulled Dean’s shirt up again, grimacing at the sight of an old, forgotten scar at the base of his stomach covered mindlessly with cuts and bruises.

“Come on. We need to get you something to eat, you look like a live skeleton.”

“Well, I did wander the forest for sixty-one days and thirteen hours before I got here,” Dean mentioned and stood up after Castiel.

“Did you meet Sam before coming here?”

“Of course.”

“He’s grown a lot.”

“Thank you for taking care of him.” Dean’s fingers fluttered over his amulet, which still hung on a string from his neck.

Castiel hesitated by the door.

“A lot has changed.”

“I can imagine,” Dean said, trying to decode the look in Castiel’s eyes. “Have you… Moved on?” He asked reluctantly. “I understand if you have.”

“Moved on?” Castiel said tonelessly. His stare landed on the crumpled piece of paper he’d thrown on the floor just before Dean showed up.

“Not quite.”

“Then what is it?” Dean asked, taking his hand.

“You look… Completely normal,” Castiel pointed out.

“Thanks?” Dean smiled halfheartedly.

“How did you get through it without going crazy?” 

“You know me,” Dean mumbled. “I don’t take anything too seriously.”

Castiel pressed his lips together. Dean’s eyes caught the movement, and he sighed. “Look, this is… Screwed up. You really don’t wanna know.”

“I don’t want to know,” Castiel nodded slowly. “Got it.” He turned away, but Dean’s grip on his fingers tightened.

“Now you’re upset.”

“I just want to be there for you,” he muttered. “I just want to understand. And I don’t think miscommunication is the way to it.”

Dean took a deep breath followed by a grimace, and his hand groped his chest distractedly. “Alright, Grumpy. I’m just saying, it ain’t pretty.”

He paused for a moment.

“You know how they say to think about the people you love during hard times so you don’t lose yourself? Well, I did the opposite.”

“How do you mean?”

“After a while of being there I realized," Dean continued, "if I would keep thinking about you and Sam and home - then, if I ever came back, I wouldn’t be able to look at you without connecting the sight to the feeling of my skin being…” His voice faded as he saw Castiel’s expression, and he cleared his throat. “So I disconnected myself. I did my best to forget about everything I wanted to love. And after I escaped…” Looking down at their intertwined fingers, he let out a small huff.

“When I got out, I couldn’t remember how your face looked like.”

“Did it work?” Castiel asked quietly.

Dean blinked at him.

“Well, yes,” he said, taken aback by the question. “I mean, I’m not exactly brand new,” he gestured at his bruised body. “I can’t really sleep and I get tense at certain noises, but y’know.”

Castiel rested his palm against Dean’s cheek. “We’ll figure it out, then,” he smiled, somewhat sadly.

“I- I can remember how you look now, you know,” Dean said. Castiel frowned.

“You’re looking at me.”

“Exactly,” Dean smiled. He took a step closer, leaning his head closer to Castiel.

“Can I…?”

“Of course.”

Their lips touched.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry.” Castiel held back, examining Dean’s lip to ascertain it wasn’t about to start bleeding. “Alright, let’s go. With these wounds, people are going to think you came straight out of Hell.”

“Um, Cas?” Dean put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from turning around and opening the door. “Shouldn’t you, uh, meet me back at my place?”

“Oh, right." Castiel mused, considering how to bring Dean the news. "Uh, quick update: my aunt is dying so I’m going to be King, and everyone we went to war with knows about us.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Yep.” Castiel opened the door and led Dean down the stairs.

“So that means…”

“Aha.”

“Finally, after seven years, being the secret lover of a royalty pays off.”

“It most certainly does.”

They walked down the stairs hand in hand, not stopping for a moment to wonder what the future holds.

 

* * *

 

Castiel walked down the corridor of his own castle, nervously straightening his clothes every few seconds. His fingers tingled with anticipation: he was about to meet someone he hasn't seen in a very long time.

He walked past Charlie's room, his and Dean's room, and Sam's room, before climbing up a side starecase and pacing down another corridor. Reaching its end, he faced two open doors. 

He stepped inside. 

At the center of the room awaited him a long table with a fair-haired man sitting by its end. 

“Cassie,” the man said coolly. 

“Luci,” Castiel replied. He approached the king, who stood up at the presence of his brother.  

“It’s been a while since we last met.”

 _Afterwards which you kidnapped and tortured my husband for a year,_ Castiel added within his mind. 

“Seven years,” Lucifer noted. 

“I didn't forget.”

A short silence grew tense between them.

“It’s time we put an end to this, don’t you think?” Lucifer asked.

“Certainly,” Castiel replied and they hugged. “It’s time we make peace.”

Coming to terms with one another’s demands was not as difficult as Castiel had expected it would be after over a decade of war.

He knew it was ridiculous to even think of, but he secretly hoped things could go back to how they used to be between them. Lucifer would probably not agree to chase him around the court with green hair dye like he used to, but Castiel hoped his brother might agree to come down and have dinner with him and his family every once in a while.

He kept those thoughts to himself for now, however.  _Baby steps,_ he reminded himself, thinking of Dean.

“I think we’re done here,” Lucifer asserted after no more than an hour.

“So do I.” Castiel stood up from his chair and faced his brother with somewhat of a proud smile. “On behalf of the Edlund people, I am honored to bring our two nations to peace today,” he declared as they shook hands. The room was empty apart from the both of them, but Castiel let himself imagine the cheering of his people in his head.

~

When he walked out of the building he found Dean sitting in the royal garden, as he did more often than not these days. Castiel crouched and sat on the ground next to him, putting his crown down on the soil. He hated that thing – it was heavy and uncomfortable, and it hurt his ears.

Beside him, Dean sat unaware and gazed at the flowers with an enchanted expression. Castiel watched him for a moment before speaking.

“How’s it going?” He asked quietly, careful not to startle Dean.

Dean turned to look at him, disoriented for a moment, before he smiled and pointed at the flowers.

“Do you hear them?”

“Who, honey?” Castiel asked gently. He’s developed a habit of always talking to Dean calmly, no matter how frustrated he felt.

“The sprouts,” Dean motioned at the plants that warmed silently under the sunrays in front of them.

“I don’t hear anything,” Castiel told him. Experimentally – his heart beating faster at the fear of Dean shaking him off – he moved his fingers and caught Dean’s lightly. Dean smiled at him, leaning his head toward the flowers and listening, and Castiel let out a relieved breath.

After a moment of concentrated listening, Dean asserted, “maybe they’re asleep.”

Castiel didn’t know how to answer that.

“Hold on,” he said instead as he spotted Charlie at the margins of the garden. He started to stand up, mumbling an “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t go,” Dean blurted urgently and clasped his arm tightly. Castiel shot a glance at Charlie, who nodded understandingly.

“Alright,” he said and repositioned in his improvised seat next to Dean, watching him silently for a moment.

He didn’t know how to make conversation with Dean these days, which often led to long silences. It didn’t seem like Dean minded, though.

With caution, Castiel decided to try his luck again.

“Hey, do you remember what we talked about yesterday?” He asked.

“Aha.” Finally, Dean turned to face him, his green gaze on Castiel’s face as relaxing as the sun’s touch on Dean’s sprouts. “You seemed sad and I asked you what’s wrong. Then you told Sam I said that and he said…” His voice faded and he frowned with concentrating for a moment, staring into nothing as he tried to recall Sam’s words. _“He’s becoming aware of his surroundings. That’s progress.”_

Castiel, who had stared at him while he spoke, smacked his face with his palm now. “Before that,” he grunted, his voice coming out muffled. He’d hoped Dean didn’t hear his conversation with Sam, but Dean’s ears seemed to be sharper than his memory.

“Oh.” Dean watched his expressions closely, and Castiel tried to keep his face composed. At the corner of his eye he could still see Charlie, watching the exchange and waiting for him.

“…No.”

“I told you my brother was arriving today.”

“Right,” Dean recalled with bright eyes, but the spark died as soon as the word left his mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” he said with a sudden pained expression that Castiel hasn’t seen in a long time.

“For what?” He asked, surprised.

“For making you so sad all the time,” Dean replied simply.

“Oh.” Castiel’s expression softened. His eyes wandered toward Charlie, who folded her hands and stared at him with suppressed impatience.

“Cas?” Dean rested a hand on his and drew his attention back.

“You don’t make me sad,” Castiel squeezed Dean’s hand reassuringly. “You’re doing great, honey.”

“Really?” Dean’s eyes brightened.

“I promise,” Castiel returned him a smile. “Now, I should go before Charlie tries to step on me.” He stood up, Dean’s wondering expression following him before wandering back to his plants as Castiel stood beside the Queen.

“I’m leaving at sunset,” Charlie disclosed.

“Good; bring me some snow from the north. This weather depresses me.” Castiel glanced at the bright blue sky and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

She was quiet.

When he looked back at her, she was watching Dean.

“Forgot your crown,” she mentioned.

“Eh.” Castiel glanced at the damned, ear-hurting object. “It doesn’t fit me that well anyway.” 

A moment passed.

“How is he?” She asked.

“Better,” Castiel replied firmly.

She let out a long sigh. “Fourth time on the battlefield is just too much.”

“He’ll recover,” Castiel muttered. He had no patience for Charlie’s speeches today.

“I didn’t say he won’t…”

“He’ll be alright,” he repeated decisively. He paused, composing himself. “He recognizes me. He doesn’t push me away anymore. He remembers things, we just need to fill in the blank puzzle pieces.” He pursed his lips, not mentioning Dean’s declaration of _not trusting carrots_ last dinner.

When he looked over at her, Charlie’s eyebrows were furrowed with an attempt to keep her face blank. Castiel recognized the lines of worry that distorted her face ever-so-slightly, however.

“Are you alright?” He asked. Charlie nodded.

“Yeah,” she answered, unfolding her arms to tuck a stray lock of hairs behind her ear. “I'm just wondering if you guys will be.”

Dean looked over at Castiel, holding his stare. He smiled, and Castiel smiled back.

“Oh, I think we’ll be just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just finished writing this and I'm sick so you can understand, I hope, this affects my writing (as well as my rational thinking, breathing, and other unimportant stuff). Still, I hope you enjoyed this fic at least somewhat. I've worked pretty damn hard on it and although it's far from good, I find it amusing at some points. Please go ahead and let me know what you think.  
> Thank you for reading!  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> Partly proofread by [Lindsey.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdlexia)  
> Also, a big thanks to Kathi who's helping me with her great ideas and advice.


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